An Entity, My Own
by TheMuser
Summary: Voldemort and Harry both find out about Harry being a Horcrux... This story is being REDONE. It will be posted under a different name and this version will be deleted once a sufficient amount of it is complete and I am confident in my ability to post the chapters on time. My sincerest apologies.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP. The first line or so is taken exactly out of DH.

A/N: Review please. I'm not sure if I should continue with this, more details on what is to follow at the end of this chapter. If I get to see that people are interested in reading this (alerts/reviews etc) , I'll continue. If not, then I'll continue till I get bored.

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><p>Chapter 1: Face to Face<p>

Finally, the truth. Lying with his face pressed into the dusty carpet of the office where he had once thought he was learning the secrets of victory, Harry understood at last that he was not supposed to survive.

The endless battle, the fight for survival. All meaningless, all trivial. Why, why did his heart pump so quickly now? In a few moments its once unceasing beating would cease and his body, the one that carried the identity of Harry Potter would rot over time. His soul, now that the existence of such things had been confirmed by his knowledge of horcruxes, would hopefully move on to a better place. A place where perhaps his loved ones would be waiting for him. Either his family, Sirius or just someone to call his own and someone that would call him their own.

Harry tried not to think of those he loved here and how painful it would be to leave them. Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, the Order,...Ginny. Harry throat tightened painfully at their names but in his heart there was resignation. He'd known...he'd known somewhere deep inside that his future was Voldemort. And that one day, he would have to leave them all behind and face whatever he had in store for him. A fight, torture and even a willing death.

"So you've finally found out." spoke a voice softly from the shadows, yanking Harry out of his reverie. Harry stood up quickly, his hand reaching into his pocket to grab Draco's wand, his eyes searching for the owner of the voice that had interrupted his consideration of the long-awaited truth.

There was movement behind him and Harry spun around, while drawing out the wand and came face to face with the tall, looming figure of Lord Voldemort. If it were possible, Harry's heartbeat increased in frequency and the knuckles holding the hawthorn wand went white.

The Dark Lord stepped away from the door, Dumbledore's famous wand in his own hand, giving Harry, for the first time, not a look full of loathing but instead one of cold disregard. The look unnerved Harry and he stared back for a moment with defiance, before remembering what he had just seen and lowering his wand, dropping his hand beside him.

Along with his heart, blood was now beating in his ears and Harry thought it rather amusing that he was getting a drum roll before he met his end. Despite his fear, anger also flashed in his mind at the thought of Voldemort back in Hogwarts and back in Dumbledore's office of all places. The office held many precious and painful memories for him and he hated that Voldemort would be fouling them with his presence. However, he was also grateful he would die here, away from some prying eyes and other eyes that were sure to look hopeless at the sight of the Chosen One, their saviour, killed pathetically and unable to save their ungrateful selves from the Dark Lord and his regime.

Harry stared at said Dark Lord, the image in front of his eyes becoming sharp as adrenaline coursed through his veins. Without taking his eyes off of him either, Voldemort stepped closer to him and came to a stop with bare inches left between them and grasped Harry's chin with his long fingers.

Swirling crimson eyes narrowed. "A pity, that after 16 years of chasing you," he murmured softly, "I now cannot even kill you."

Harry's scar gave its usual response at being close to Voldemort as it seared in pain. But it was not the scar that worried Harry, it was Voldemort's words. He felt something tight constricting his chest as his eyes widened and he struggled to breathe, stepping backward to lean against the chair in front of the headmaster's desk. "No!" he suddenly blurted out, "You must. You have to."

Voldemort grasped his chin tighter. "So eager to die now, are we?" Voldemort said mockingly and released Harry a sideways sweep of his arm, so that he stumbled and had to use dead headmaster's desk to steady himself.

Harry clutched the desk hard with his fingers and breathed loudly through his nose in an effort to calm himself. The pain in his scar lessened to bearable level and Harry could finally think again. Turning away from the Dark Lord, Harry stared at the window to his right as realization dawned upon him and his earlier panicked weakness turned into dread, making his stomach muscles clench.

He knows.

Harry turned back to stare at the Dark Lord, who had been watching with the same narrowed eyes. "How do you know?" Harry asked.

"I am all knowing, boy. I do not need to explain myself to the likes of you."

"Funny, Riddle, how you would consider me different from yourself despite the fact that it is a part of your soul that lives inside me," replied Harry, not knowing what enabled him to reply with cheek in the face of something worse than the quick painless death Dumbledore had planned for him.

Voldemort's face twisted into an angry grimace and his crimson eyes flashed. Harry stood his ground as Voldemort walked toward Harry, surprising him as he took Harry's right arm and turned on the spot, disapparating both of them from the Headmaster's office.

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><p>For the second time that night, Harry lay on his stomach with his cheek pressed against the hard ground. The sudden chill in the air and the whooshing wind heard by his ringing ears, a symptom he still experienced after disapparation, told him that he was outside this time. Harry jumped to his feet and took in his surroundings. He was at the setting where a number of his nightmares took place, all stemming from the one memory that still made his feel turn cold. The graveyard. Just a little ways off of Little Hangleton where Lord Voldemort had been resurrected using Harry's own blood, the bones of his muggle father and the hand of his cowardly servant, or death eater as they were known, Wormtail.<p>

It was also the place where he had first seen another person die, not counting his mother as he was just a baby when she had been ruthlessly murdered by Voldemort. The same Voldemort whose soul, a piece of rather, Harry still carried with him since that day. Did carrying the soul of such a depraved being make him such as well? The thought of it was too much for him and Harry leaned over to the side and vomited whatever little had been in his stomach.

"Pathetic... weak", Voldemort commented snidely as he watched Harry with the corners of his mouth turned down, "And the last person who I'd have chosen to carry a part my soul."

Harry wiped his mouth at the back of his palm and glared at the Dark Lord. "Believe me I'm not thrilled at the thought either. Why have you brought me here?"

"Because I need to decide what to do with you," Voldemort replied.

Another person would have been affronted at being talked about as an object needed to be done something with. But after having the Dursleys first decide his fate and then Dumbledore and the Order speak of him as 'the boy', he was quite used to such behaviour.

"Why don't you just kill me then? It'll be easy for you won't it? After all you've killed enough people in the past to make an army out of them. What's one other?" Harry said this conversationally enough but his eyes still duelled with the other man's.

"Suffering from selective memory, Potter? You seem to have conveniently forgotten what you had been so keen to remind me of only moments before. You are a horcrux. My horcrux. And you carry a piece of my soul in you. Which of course... is without my consent. So please Harry, do not delude yourself into thinking that you will get out of this with something as painless as the Avada Kedavra. You shall suffer." Voldemort hissed, his eyes narrowed once again.

Harry's lips tightened at Voldemort's speech. He then did the only thing that might illicit an almost human, non-lord like response from the man. He insulted him.

"Perhaps my selective memory is side effect of your soul? After all, it gave many other gifts such as parseltounge. Perhaps brain damage was another?" Harry spoke innocently, smiling without humour all the while.

Much to Harry's dismay, Voldemort only chuckled in his high cold voice, "Do not think me as foolish as a Gryffindor. I do not wear my heart upon my sleeve to be offended at each pathetic insult. You will not be able to get at me, Harry. And it is instead you're insolence in thinking you can do so, that angers me."

Voldemort sneered at him as he waved his hand in a forward direction, causing Harry to fly off the ground and hit the headstone of Tom Riddle's grave and crumple on the ground beneath it. With another flick of Voldemort's finger, Harry was forced to stand up against the headstone, invisible wires binding him there.

There was a long silence; Voldemort, waiting for only lord knows what and Harry, waiting for the crucio that never came. Finally, gathering his courage, Harry asked, "Well, what have you decided?"

Voldemort did not reply. Instead, he seemingly slithered through the overgrown glass around the graveyard, towards a small stone path that led to village. The hood of his robe, hooded his face by itself as the invisible bindings on Harry released themselves. Harry first instinct of course, was to disapparate. He tried acting on the instinct but found himself as incapable as he had been at the age of 15 before he had learned how.

"Did you think me foolish, Potter? I have placed an Anti-disapparation charm on you. Now you will only disapparate in side-along disapparation. A rather useful charm that the ministry invented in order to restrain those that broke the law..." Voldemort said while looking over his shoulder in response to the gasp that has escaped Harry when he found himself unable to disapparate.

"You will follow me Harry," continued Voldemort as he turned back, "You have nowhere else to go. Your protectors are dead, Hogwarts is a playground for my death eaters tonight and believe me, using our new found connection I will be able to seek you out wherever you are on the face of the earth."

Voldemort began to glide once again along the path. Harry understood Voldemort's reasoning and the assuredness with which he was convinced Harry would follow. After all, now that he could not die, he would at least refrain from endangering others by hiding with them. Harry looked up at the starry sky, its vastness now seeming like a cage to him. Feeling more helpless than he ever had before, Harry turned to follow the Dark Lord through the trees leading to the village.

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><p>AN: And that is it for the first chapter folks. As you can possibly guess, the setting for the next few chapters will be Little Hangleton and since there is only one place in that muggle infested area good enough for our snobby dark lord, the two them will be staying at Riddle Manor for a while.

For the first few chapters (If I get that far), I'll be focusing on HP and LV before bringing in other characters. And yes, since this a sort of continuation of DH, there WILL be other characters, a legit plot and an ending.

Also yes, this is slash and since this is slash, the characters will have to get a little OC. What I'm actually trying to accomplish with this story is to have them as in-character as possible while the whole thing being a slash fic. (I have big dreams, I know, but lets see how it turns out)

So during reading, even if don't feel like leaving me a nice little review saying how much you like this, please please please if you find somewhere that I've done something horribly OC with the characters, review or msg me and give me some good criticism.

Thanks for reading :D Now go and waste some more time and ignore doing your homework/housework/feeding your dog etc in favor of more fanfic :)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP. A quote is taken out of DH.

A/N: Sorry for the delay in the posting of this chapter. Its quite a long one, so it took a while before I was satisfied enough with it to post it. More on the what's to come after this chapter.

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

A boy with a shock of untidy black hair against ghostly pale skin stood in the dark foyer of Riddle Manor. His bright green eyes roved around the place, memories of a recurring dream from his fourth year fresh in his mind.

Just up the main staircase, at the doorway of the first bedroom on the second landing, an old man by the name of Frank had been killed in cold blood. Dark Lord Voldemort, along with his followers, Peter Pettigrew and Barty Crouch Jr. had been planning Harry Potter's death.

The same Harry Potter who had followed the Dark Lord here willingly, who now stood a mere two feet behind him by some cruel whim of fate. _You would think life would have ceased its surprises by now..._ thought Harry wryly.

"This was my muggle father's residence," Voldemort said, startling Harry out of his brooding in a soft voice. "He lived here along his parents until they met their deserved end at my hands ... No different from other muggle scum, leaving my mother while she still bore me," His voice was still soft but a scowl was now etched upon the serpentine features, "He was worthless, afraid of magic and of things beyond his arrogant yet limited mind ..."

Hearing this, Harry forced himself not to smirk. Albus Dumbledore had always had a knack for being right about things. Now, well after his death, the 'greatest wizard of all time' had been proven right again. Harry could recount countless meetings during which the headmaster had spoken to him about Voldemort's insecurities. From their study of the Dark Lord they had drawn one sure conclusion; Voldemort was afraid of matters that were beyond his understanding.

Harry inwardly smiled at the irony. Voldemort's description of his father, the latter part at least, sounded oddly familiar now. Tom Riddle Sr. had been afraid of magic because he did not understand it. His son, just as arrogant, was afraid of death instead.

"Since I have not yet decided what to do with your additional ... _responsibility_, we will be staying here until arrangements can be made," said Voldemort, his previous indifferent voice back in place.

Harry's heart sank with these words. He had been half hoping that Voldemort would either chuck him in dungeon or at least take him someplace with the rest of death eaters. It would have caused him grim satisfaction to see their expressions at the Chosen One being sheltered by the Dark Lord. Staying here alone with him though...

Voldemort's face now twisted into a mocking smile, "Why so forlorn Potter? Tell me ... What is it about this place that does not please you? From one filthy muggle house to another, what difference does it make?"

Harry raised his eyebrows in annoyance, "I don't understand your need to have a go at my family when the similarities between yours and my own are striking. You come off as foolish; trying to insult me when so many of circumstances in our lives have been the same."

"Oh and you think you know quite a lot about my past do you?" Voldemort asked coldly.

"Yes I do," Harry said simply, "more than you can imagine," he added with slight twist of his lips, knowing his words to be true. For after Dumbledore there was no other that understood the secretive Dark Lord as well as himself.

Voldemort regarded him silently for a second and then stepped closer, lowering his face and bending slightly to be on eye level. Voldemort exhaled slowly and Harry could feel his breath lightly tickle his forehead, but made no move to place more distance between them as he was rooted to the spot.

"Had you not been holding a piece of my soul inside of you, I would have killed you excruciatingly for being so presumptuous," he said quietly. Harry opened his mouth to retort hotly, but Voldemort was not yet finished.

He placed a long, thin finger on Harry's dry and cracked lips to silence him and said, "There is world of difference between you and I, Harry Potter. You would do well not to forget it."

Harry's scar seared in white hot pain at the contact and he dropped to his knees, clutching his forehead. He kept his mouth firmly shut though. He would not give Voldemort the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

He looked up through blurry eyes to see that Voldemort had turned away again. He struggled to get up as Voldemort spoke again, "There are numerous rooms in the house. You may choose one and stay inside. Be silent." With that, Voldemort disappeared into the shadows at the far end of the foyer, leaving Harry still swaying slightly on his feet.

Harry stared into the shadows while gritting his teeth to try and pull himself together. He took small steps towards the stairs leading upstairs and once confident he was stable enough, began to climb.

He climbed slowly, a numbness creeping over his mind as he forced himself not to think about what had taken place. He instead focused his mind on what he could see of the mansion in the darkness. It was as if he had stepped into his dream. The mansion was just as he remembered and untouched, quite literally, with a thick layer of dust coating every surface. He ran his fingers on the railing as he climbed upwards making a trail of dust clouds float up and then merge with the already stuffy but cold air inside.

The door of the room just opposite the staircase was slightly ajar and Harry could recognize it as the same room in which Voldemort had stayed. He stepped inside and noticed the difference of this room and the rest of the house immediately. The room was spotless and not a single speck of dust could be found. He supposed the cleaning charms Pettigrew had probably placed while they had stayed here were still in place.

Beside the empty grate of the fireplace across from where he stood, the high backed chair on which the frail form of Voldemort had sat still faced the door. On the other side of the fireplace, a chaise was kept beneath the window that gave view to most of Little Hangleton.

As the chaise was comfortable looking enough, Harry sat down, kicking up his feet, content to make this room his own. He lay back on the one sided arm rest, head pounding as images from recent events flashed through his mind.

His mind kept replaying each of his interactions with Voldemort. His stomach churned and Harry rested his arm on it, trying to make the nauseating feeling go away. Thinking back, Harry realized that out of all his meetings with Voldemort his entire life, those that had taken place today were the most... interesting.

Harry's lips burned as he revoked the cold, smooth touch of Voldemort's finger and how he could feel his breath on his face as the Dark Lord rebuked him.

Why Voldemort was eager to differentiate between them was obvious to Harry. It was for the same reason that he differentiated between himself and the whole world; to feed his over-inflated ego. Why Harry was so keen to point out the similarities between them, however, was something he himself did not understand. Harry told himself it was just a rebellious attempt to make the Dark Lord realize that he was not so special after all. But in Harry's mind, a small voice told him maybe that was not all.

With fatigue washing down on him in waves, Harry decided the time for late night musings was past. He closed his eyes, deep red eyes dancing underneath his eyelids, and fell into a fitful sleep.

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><p>Harry awoke to find red-orange sunlight streaming from the windows. <em>Dawn<em>, he thought as he sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders and trying to feel his fingers which had stiffened overnight in the cold.

The house was silent, not a movement of anything living could be felt. Harry stood up and worked his jaw. His mouth felt pasty and dry and his stomach growled for food. He pulled out Draco's wand to cast to a quick aguamenti and held his wand directly above his mouth, throat convulsing as he drank huge amounts of water. Feeling refreshed but slightly unsteady due to the lack of food, Harry walked out of the room and made his way downstairs.

Dust moats swirled in the little of the light that shone through the small windows high on the walls of the foyer. Harry, captivated by them, did not notice a miniature figure standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Good evening, Master Potter, did you rest well?" A cry of shock ripped through Harry's throat as he leaped backwards in shock, his foot scuffing against the step loudly causing him to lose his balance and trip down the last remaining step.

"Oh! Dusty is terribly sorry Master Potter, he did not mean to startle you!" squeaked the figure in panic. Harry blinked, wincing from the pain in his leg as a house elf came into focus. His first thought was 'Dobby!' but the difference between his old loyal friend and the one in front of him soon became apparent.

Dusty's eyes were a warm brown, although just as wide and tennis ball like as Dobby's had been. He was dressed in a tea towel wrapped around his thin waist like a kilt and his ears were permanently drooping by his side, giving him the look of a keening puppy. His voice was just as high as well, but had a sweet thin quality in it that did not grate on one's ears.

Harry tried to smile up at the elf as he got up but he was sure what came forth was a twisted grimace instead. The house elf was positively trembling now, afraid of being reprimanded.

"You, um, don't need to worry. Its fine, I should been watching where I was going anyway," said Harry, trying to channel Hermione's kindness towards house elves.

"Dusty is still extremely sorry sir, Dusty was only trying to make Master Potter feel welcome," the elf replied, sniffling.

Harry smiled wryly at the thought of feeling welcome at his current location and felt sorry for the elf fighting a losing battle. No place housing Voldemort would ever be welcoming for Harry.

"Don't worry about it, honestly, I'm fine. But hang on, did you just say good evening?" asked Harry bewildered.

"Yes Master Potter!" squeaked the house elf, previous demeanour returning, "It is dusk outside now, the sun is setting as we speak!"

Harry's eyes disappeared high into his fringe as he realized he had slept through the whole day. "Oh I see. I er, did not know that Riddle Manor contained a house elf. Did Voldemort being you here?"

A terrified squeak emitted from the house elf, as he cast a frightful look at the other end of the foyer. "Please refrain from taking the Dark Lord's name Master Potter, it is most disrespectful."

"I've called him Voldemort all my life, I will not change that now. Where is he anyway?"

"The Dark Lord works in the study, Master Potter. He has called Dusty from Malfoy Manor and has charged me with seeing to your needs Master Potter, whilst you are here!"

"Oh so you are Dobby's replacement at the Malfoys. Still treat you like scum do they?"

Dusty moaned, "Please do not insult Master, Master Potter. Dusty just wanted to know what he should make for supper."

All thought about the Malfoys disappeared from Harry's head at the prospect of food. "Anything you like would be fine Dusty. Just please make it quick. I haven't eaten for days!"

"Yes, Master Potter, right away!" Dusty smiled in pleasure, his toothy grin ear to ear.

"Thanks Dusty." Harry called, making his way to the study, not noticing the wide eyed look he received from the house elf upon being thanked.

French double doors led way to the study and Harry hesitated, looking through the grimy glass at the Dark Lord standing within. A warm roaring fire lit the now darkened room and Voldemort stood facing slightly away from the door, twirling the Elder Wand between his fingers, as he flipped through an old battered volume lying open on the desk.

With a flick of the wand, the doors to the study swung open and Harry took it as a cue to step inside. Voldemort did not look up from the book, still bowing slightly over it, the same finger that had silenced him the previous night trailing the words on the page.

"From the ruckus just now, I trust you have met the house elf?" Voldemort said, his voice slightly hoarse from speaking after a great length of time.

"Yes. I'm a bit confused as to why he is here though. You didn't strike me as someone who would look out for me." Harry spoke, looking at Voldemort.

Crimson eyes left words to meet with his own, "Do not flatter yourself. I'm looking out for my horcrux, nothing else."

"Sure," said Harry dispassionately, making his way to the bookshelves lining the study on the other end, head cocked slightly as he read through the names. The books were mostly old, written in languages Harry hadn't studied. The few that he was able to decipher were mostly on wand lore, while others based on various branches of magic.

Harry knew of the Dark Lord's current dilemma. The Elder Wand did not work for him as well as he would like, despite him ruthlessly killing Snape in order to stake claim as the true owner. This was of course, because he was not. Harry wondered how Voldemort would react when he found out that his archenemy, Harry himself, was true owner of the Wand of Destiny.

Ollivander's words echoed in Harry's ears, 'The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr. Potter. He is determined to possess it, because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable ... the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit ... formidable.'

Formidable. When had the Dark Lord not been formidable? Yet, despite his dark power, Harry had been pitted against him, willing or not, time after time. And now, he knew that despite being under Voldemort's very nose (or lack of) Harry would have to fight against him yet again. Fight in order to keep him from possessing the most powerful wand in the world and reducing what was left of the world to smithereens.

Harry ran his fingers on the spine of a battered volume as his mind formulated the ghost of a plan. He had no idea whether it would work, but he knew had to try. He also knew that time was something he was short of again. Who knew when Voldemort would find 'suitable arrangements' for his horcrux and he would be banished from Dark Lord's company forever.

So without sitting down and thinking his plan through as he knew he should, Harry carried out the first step... bait.

Harry turned back to Voldemort, who had gone back to his book, reading it with almost a hunger in his stance.

"I know why it doesn't work for you, the wand" said Harry quietly.

Voldemort turned to face him slowly, surprise evident on his face. He said nothing, but straightened up to his full height, hands tightening around the wand possessively as he looked at Harry expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

"You are not its true owner."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, "Then, pray tell, who is?"

"I don't think I'll be divulging that information just about now. But just thought you should know, you are not its true owner," Harry said coolly, a smirk playing about his lips.

Suddenly, Harry found himself pushed against the bookshelf, with the much discussed wand pressed against his throat.

"You underestimate me, Potter" hissed Voldemort, a hand clutching painfully at Harry's hair. "I have always gotten what I want. Do not think that just because you are my horcrux, you will not be harmed by my hands. Now tell me what I want to know."

Harry gritted his teeth against the pain in his scar, blinding him again as he struggled to speak. "And you underestimate me, Riddle. I will not back down against the threat of pain for you have caused me nothing but since the moment I was born. And you forget, I am one the one thing you have never attained. Even today, I came with you willingly. And it is only willingly that I will tell you what you need to know."

"I am an accomplished Legilimens. Your secrets will never be safe from me, Harry. And we both know the weakness of your mind ... the death of your dear godfather was a prime example."

Closing his eyes against the pain both physical and mental at the thought of Sirius, Harry laughed. "You may be more than accomplished Voldemort, but you will not get through my mind anymore. Haven't you noticed, despite being close to each other, my mind remains closed to you?"

With a cry of frustration, Voldemort threw him halfway across the room. Harry landed painfully against the desk, cutting his lip down to his chin against some ornament.

Harry got up again, thankful that he was finally out Voldemort's clutch as the pain in his head receded a little. Laughing again, Harry made his way towards the door slowly, blood dripping down onto his shirt from his face. Before going out, Harry looked back at Voldemort who was staring at him, livid.

"Learn some respect, my lord," he said mockingly, "and maybe I will willingly tell you what you need to know."

Just then Dusty appeared in front of the study, gasping at the sight of Harry and cowering from the rage he could feel emanating from the Dark Lord.

Harry smiled at the house elf with his bloody mouth and said, "How about some of that supper now, Dusty?"

Dusty cast one last terrified look at Voldemort before squeaking, "Right this way sir!" and led the way down to the kitchens.

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><p>AN: So, that was about 3K words, hope you guys found it okay. Not one of the best pieces I've written (I felt the first chapter flowed more) but since the story is just settling in right now, an awkward chapter was necessary.

Plotwise, one of the Hallows has been introduced and in the next chapter the other two will be as well. We'll also find out how the surviving horcrux is doing.

As for the 'in-character' thing I mentioned last chapter, I'm not sure how it worked out in this chapter. I know LV was pretty OOC with some of his dialogues and I like wordy dialogues so some of Harry's were kinda un-Harry like as well :( But, since they are a figment of Rowling's imagination and not mine, I'm kinda coming to the conclusion that whatever I do with them will be OC :P

Lastly, thank you all so much for the reviews and alerts! I'd love some more reviews on this chapter and some ideas on how you guys think you want the story to continue. I'm hoping I'll be able to update chapters weekly, but like with this update, it's easy for me to get delayed. I am a first year Engineering student, so life is very high in stress levels for me right now (Writing is my respite :D ) but don't worry, I will complete this story!

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP. A few lines are taken directly out of OoP

A/N: Was sick, 'nuff said. Detailed (very) A/N relating to the story follows the chapter. Please read.

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

Harry spat blood into the sink, watching the crimson swirl out of sight with the water gushing from faucet. His ghostly visage caught his eyes as he looked up to the window behind the sink.

He grimaced at his state and the pain causing the lower half of his face to throb. A jagged cut ran from the right side of his bottom lip to the edge of jaw. The wound didn't seem too deep but it was painful nonetheless.

Wondering what could have made such a cut, Harry turned away from the sink, looking around the large kitchen for something that could help him. Despite being of age, he had not yet quite mastered the art of healing. He did know how to fix broken noses and he recalled a friend, Luna, telling him that toes weren't too different either. A bold slash such as this one stumped him though, and he found himself thinking longingly of Hermione's bean bag containing the miraculous essence of dittany.

His gaze fell on the still whimpering elf a few ways off.

"Dusty, are you alright?" he asked, twisting his face slightly as he tasted the sharp tang of his own blood.

"Such rage, Master Potter. Dusty was terribly terrified," Dusty shuddered.

"It's alright, don't worry about Voldemort. I have reason to think that he is usually this short tempered," Harry shrugged, "I suppose he needs to keep up with his angry image of a Dark Lord."

Dusty gave a squeak of protest at Voldemort's name but was otherwise silent.

"You used to be at Malfoy Manor right? I recall him having episodes there as well. You should be used to them," Harry said frowning.

He could remember some particularly nasty visions he'd seen in Dark Lords mind when he had tortured his followers during this past year. Since the Dark Lord had made Malfoy Manor his lair of sorts, Harry thought no creature in the house would have been spared his anger while he stayed there.

"Dusty worked in the kitchens with the other house elves, Master Potter," said Dusty, "he never had to go and fac- I m-mean serve the Dark Lord personally."

He supposed he had been mistaken. The old pureblood family's manor was big enough that even Voldemort's anger did not reach all boundaries...

"I see. Well, as you can see I can't exactly enjoy your supper in my current state. Do you think there is anything that can help me around here? Essence of Dittany? Band-Aids?" he asked hopefully.

"Dusty does not know about essences and banadads," Dusty said apologetically, his ears drooping further. "But he could heals the master if he so wishes."

"That sounds good. But have you healed someone before?" Harry was a little apprehensive about how the elf magic would affect him.

"Only other elves Master Potter, but he is sure that it won't hurt Master!"

Harry sighed, the blood staring to drip again. What did he have to lose? "Go ahead then."

He sat down on a bar stool along the counter of the kitchen as the elf scrambled up on the stool beside him. Standing up on the stool so that he stood slightly above Harry, Dusty closed his eyes in concentration and snapped his fingers.

Harry's eyes burned and he held in a yelp from the sudden sensation. He had felt as though someone had zipped up the broken skin on his face. A protruding, half-healed scar could be felt by his fingers as he ran them gently across the broken skin.

Harry thanked Dusty enthusiastically when he felt the pain lesson considerably. The elf gave him another toothy grin and ran about setting up Harry's dinner.

The smell of the thick stew almost made him drool and his stomach grumbled loudly.

Dusty placed the food in front of him and gave a low bow. Without waiting a second, Harry started wolfing down the stew and the bread Dusty had provided alongside.

After three bowls in quick succession had burned his tongue and he had finished three quarters of the loaf of bread, Harry sat back smiling contentedly.

He unashamedly took another bowl, reasoning that there was a very good possibility that his already unstable life could always oscillate to the point where he would again have to go on days without food.

He sipped the stew slowly now, savouring the taste rather than just giving his body sustenance.

He looked around at Dusty and thanked him again for the wonderful food. The house elf smiled uncertainly and waved off the appreciation, still unused to being thanked for doing his duty.

"If there is nothing more for Dusty to do here, he should leave and get a start on getting the manor in order." Harry nodded with his mouth full of soup. He looked after the elf who scurried out of sight, but not before casting a terrified look at the stairs leading upstairs to where Voldemort probably still paced his study.

Harry closed his eyes, putting down the fourth - now empty - bowl of soup. He could still feel the Dark Lord's anger but at a distance, almost as though someone had erected an invisible barrier of sorts between them.

The cool yet poignant scent of the sea filled his mind as he recollected the time when he had found out how to finally keep Voldemort out of his mind.

Shell Cottage... The beautiful cottage situated at the edge of the sea where his faithful friend, so like the house elf that had just left the kitchen, had died.

Consumed with grief over Dobby's death at the time, Harry had hardly felt Voldemort's anger at Harry having escaped so narrowly from his clutches as Malfoy Manor once again. It was then he realized that grief or in Dumbledore's terms, love, kept Voldemort out. He supposed that because of the soulless being his numerous horcruxes had caused him to become, emotions that he could not relate to kept him from sharing Harry's mind. Since then, Harry had been careful to keep reminding himself of all his friends that had died at the hands of Voldemort and his death eaters while he thought up of anything even remotely important.

It was hard and it had made him rather weak and distant from everything else, but it had also helped immensely. After being freed from the frequent episodes of seeing inside Voldemort's mind, Harry had been able to think again and draw conclusions as to what had needed to be done next.

It was after talking to Ollivander in such a mindset that Harry had realized the loophole that could potentially save him from the Dark Lord. He'd realized that despite possessing the Elder Wand, Voldemort was not its true owner.

The true owner was actually... none other than Harry himself.

Carefully replaying the events after Dumbledore's death, Harry came to the conclusion that after Dumbledore, the wand's true owner had been Malfoy, who has disarmed Dumbledore before Snape had gotten there. After overpowering Malfoy at the Manor, Harry had then gained ownership over the most sought after wand in the world.

Of course, Voldemort knew none of this. He'd thought killing, as usual, was the solution to all problems. Subtlety did not come easy to someone such as Voldemort, despite underestimation of the simpler things in life having been his downfall countless times. Now playing on that weakness again, Harry had to work out a way to keep the Elder Wand out of Voldemort's ownership.

But first, there had to be some way for him to get stronger. Just some way for Harry Potter to finally hold his own against the Dark Lord. But how...? Dumbledore would have said that his ability to love would be enough ... but recent events hadn't exactly left Harry feeling warmed up to the dead man. Dumbledore's past mistakes had made him as big a hypocrite as anyone and the recent revelations about Harry's predesigned death also put a sour taste in Harry's mouth.

Past mistakes ... Dumbledore had gone wrong in the same place countless wizards had ... unable to resist the pull of power. Was there really no one who could resist that temptation?

Then as sudden as the ray of sunlight that illuminates the world when the sun breaks free of the clouds, the answer came to Harry.

* * *

><p>The grandfather clock in the room Harry had adopted as his own showed that it was half past one in the morning. The constant tick of the clock was loud against the ever-present silence of the manor. He did not mind it though; the periodic tick became a soothing background to his raging thoughts.<p>

Harry leaned back into the threadbare cushions of the chaise where he was lounging, shirtless, with some old trousers on possibly belonging to Tom Riddle Sr. or Riddle's father.

He wasn't especially keen to be wearing a dead man's clothing but after giving it a moment's thought, couldn't bring himself to care. His own clothes had been taken down for a wash by Dusty and he didn't have much choice in terms of wardrobe. His rucksack had been lost somewhere along his travels with Ron and Hermione and with it, his clothes and any other daily necessities he had owned were gone as well.

Thankfully, the moleskin pouch given to him by Hagrid had still managed to retain its place around his neck. He didn't care too much about the rucksack, but the pouch's contents were invaluable.

He caressed the feebly struggling snitch in his hand. He gazed at the snitch, frowning. _I open at the close _... What did that mean...?

Harry tensed suddenly as he felt slight movement outside his door and quickly slipped the snitch back into the pouch. The light from the cozy fire Dusty had lit for him did nothing to disperse the shadows outside the door.

The shadows then shifted slightly as Voldemort emerged from them, his robes melting into form from the shadows, giving him wraith-like appearance. Harry stood up hastily, his heart in his throat. The pouch, which had been lying in his lap, fell to the floor and its contents spilled all about.

Harry's eyes strayed to the table on the other side of the fireplace where Draco's wand lay uselessly. He forced himself to look back at Voldemort.

Voldemort stood there with a lazy elegance, his eyes unfathomable. With inhuman fluidity, the Dark Lord raised his arm. There was slight shift in the air around his long fingers as the Elder Wand appeared within their cage.

Harry's hands were a clammy cold by now and he felt hopelessly vulnerable in front of the other man.

Voldemort glanced at the wand, then back at Harry before abruptly thrusting out his arm and saying expressionlessly, "Crucio,"

Harry's eyes widened as he saw the cruel red light shoot out of the Elder Wand ... and then something most peculiar happened. The light hit him square in the chest, but there was no pain at all. He merely lurched forward as though someone had given him a rough shove but the horrid pain that was expected was nowhere to be found. Harry regained his balance, his eyes still wide. He let out a slow breath of relief but his legs still shook.

"Just as I suspected ..." spoke Voldemort softly.

Harry raised his face to meet his gaze, palms clenched into fists.

Voldemort twirled the wand lightly in his fingers and started to walk deeper inside the room. Fighting the urge to take a step back like his instincts screamed at him to do, Harry stood rooted to the spot, heart still hammering.

Voldemort strolled right past Harry, whose eyes followed every step. The Dark Lord sat down on the high backed chair beside the fire and leaned back, arms resting on either side of the chair and legs crossed.

He looked like an evil king upon his throne and Harry suddenly felt like a prisoner brought to his execution.

"Sit down. I'm afraid we have much to discuss," Voldemort ordered in his silky voice.

Harry sat down on the edge of his recently vacated seat, mind racing with what Voldemort would do now.

Shaken, through Harry still was, he'd already known this would happen eventually. He just didn't know it would happen so soon. Voldemort had realized Harry was the true owner of the wand faster than Harry could have ever dreamed. He still held on to his last hope though. Voldemort still sat at the zenith of arrogance and Harry hoped that from his high seat there, he'd still been unable to figure out a few points.

Voldemort was silent, looking at Harry with his extraordinary eyes. Oddly, Harry found himself thinking about how different that gaze was from that of his headmaster. Dumbledore's eyes had x-rayed right through him while Voldemort's eyes ... they hypnotized him. Harry found it dangerously easy to lose himself in the sea of red. Harry knew this was because of the piece of soul inside him but nevertheless it scared him. In the light of his recent plans, it was crucial that he remain in control of himself at all times, never allowing the slightest weakness to come forth in front of Voldemort.

Harry shook himself mentally out his stupor. Despite having 'much to discuss' Voldemort remained silent.

Harry broke the silence. "Well...?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him with something almost like surprise on his face, as though he'd just realized Harry could talk.

Harry face set itself into a scowl. "I am not one of your stupid Death Eaters who won't interrupt your silence in fear of being silenced forever. You said you had much to discuss didn't you? Get on with it already."

This time it was Harry's turn to be surprised when instead of spitting like an angry snake, Voldemort smiled at him, albeit mockingly.

"In that sense you are very much right. You are not one my faithful Death Eaters," Voldemort said pleasantly, "However..."

Voldemort's wand-free hand twisted slightly and Harry found himself unable to breathe. He clawed at invisible hands against his throat, eyes bulging.

The Dark Lord's hand twitched again and Harry took in huge gulps of air, hands now massaging his reddening neck.

"However," Voldemort continued as though nothing had happened, "I expect you to retain some subservience to your betters ... Or did Dumbledore not even teach that you much?"

"Subservience to my betters isn't something that is supposed to be taught," Harry spoke in a raspy voice, "It is supposed to come naturally to people you respect. And I don't respect you. So go ahead Riddle, choke me again, but I will _never_ stoop so low as to kiss your robes like those pathetic dogs."

A cold rage burned through Harry but Voldemort merely smiled again and said, "Oh won't you..."

"That's right, I won't."

Voldemort leaned back further into his chair, shadows crossing his face. Only the barest flash of red was visible amid some slivers of his pale reptilian face.

Harry looked away from him, staring into the fire. His throat ached and the ache put him on his guard. Voldemort had effectively shown him that he was not limited to the use of a wand in order to cause pain.

There was slight tap of wood against wood and Harry looked up to see that Voldemort had picked up Malfoy's wand from the table beside him. He examined it in the firelight as a string of swear words ran through Harry's head. He'd been foolish to leave that lying around.

"Hawthorn ... this wand belongs to?"

"A snatcher," lied Harry calmly.

Voldemort gave no indication that he'd heard, still examining the wand. Harry's eyes bored into the bottom half of his face that he could see by the firelight, stomach knotting painfully.

"I would suspect that this wand does not work well for you ... just as the Elder Wand does not for me..." Voldemort sounded almost as though he was speaking to himself but Harry tensed.

The hawthorn wand worked perfectly for him because he'd won it from Malfoy. However, Harry was sure that Voldemort either was or had been, under the illusion that wands could only be won from their previous owner by killing them. It seemed unlikely that after studying such volumes on wandlore that Voldemort would be ignorant to the fact that a simple disarming spell worked well enough to change ownership. The question, though, was that if he knew this applied to the Elder Wand as well.

In the end, Harry chose to say nothing. Voldemort hadn't asked him anything so he was not obligated to reply.

Neither fooled the other though as Harry leaned back into the chaise in his silence and Voldemort's face came out of the shadows, studying Harry again. Harry suddenly felt self-conscious. Harry fought to keep from looking away from Voldemort as his eyes raked over his face and the scar running down from the corner of his mouth to his jaw line. As they moved to his bare chest, Harry found himself suddenly caring a lot that he was wearing Voldemort's dead father's pants.

Voldemort didn't comment on his appearance but a small smirk started to play upon his mouth as he glanced down and took in the objects still scattered on the floor from Harry's moleskin pouch.

The snitch, the mirror shard from Sirius, the parchment that was the Marauder's map and... the pieces of his old broken wand.

"The wand that was brother to my own..." Voldemort trailed off, looking at Harry almost smugly, knowing the answer to his question.

Harry pursed his lips and indicated the broken pieces at his feet with quick jut of his jaw.

Voldemort smiled completely now and a second wand then appeared in his hands, his old wand, made of yew.

Harry tensed again, resigned now, for there was nothing that could stop him from being crucioed this time. Nails dug into his palm as he prepared himself for the pain...

"Legillimens!"

A sharp pain made itself known in Harry's head and his eyes started watering. He clutched his scar, howling with pain. But the pain receded as quick as it had come and Harry was suddenly seeing memories that were not his own...

... He saw a baby in standing in a crib and the corpse of a red haired woman on the floor, as Harry turned his wand on the baby and spoke in a high cold voice, '_Avada Kedavra_'...

... He saw an 11-year-old Harry, staring at him defiantly, the Philosopher's stone clutched in his hands ...

... Harry again, this time bound to the headstone in the graveyard, screaming in pain as he touched him on the scar ...

... And it was Harry and Harry over and over, his faces over the years swimming in front of his eyes at blinding speed ...

The images suddenly stopped and then he saw another clear memory of himself, standing in front of the Dumbledore's pensive, looking lifeless and despondent.

The figure of Harry then transformed into a young Voldemort, who looked just as haunted and devastated as Harry had looked. Young Tom Riddle Jr. raised his wand arm and spoke, his voice cracking, _'Die... Father,'_ and emerald light shot out of his wand, blinding him and Harry was thrust back into the real world again, out of Lord Voldemort's memories.

Harry was on his knees in front of the chaise, back at Riddle Manor. He was breathing heavily and flashes of what he'd just seen swam in front of his eyes.

Harry couldn't comprehend what he'd seen. He knew he had just seen Voldemort's memories of himself through Voldemort's eyes... but their meaning and significance he could not decipher. Why had they all been about him? And what in bloody hell was that last memory?

He looked up and saw that Voldemort was standing in front of him, rigid with anger. The man wasn't panting like Harry was, but his breathing was deeper than before.

Harry got up to his feet slowly, still having to look up at the Dark Lord nonetheless.

Voldemort sneered at him, "Pleased Harry? Most people would kill for what you just saw, insight into the Dark Lord's mind ..."

"I didn't do it willingly, your spell backfired," Harry said, eyes narrowing.

"Backfire it did," Voldemort hissed, "Perhaps you enlighten me as to why ..."

Harry let out a huff of air and slid past Voldemort, uncomfortable at being so close to the man whose most curious memories he'd just shared, and scoffed, "How am I supposed to know?"

Voldemort did not answer and instead sat down on Harry's chaise, looking as though it was made for him. Harry stood awkwardly beside the door, unwilling to sit in Voldemort's chair. It just held too many memories.

"Well then perhaps you can answer my other query. The Elder Wand ... how did you come to possess it?" The knot in Harry's stomach loosened considerably. So Voldemort did _not_ know how he'd gotten the Elder Wand... but then how had he realized that Harry was the owner?

"I'm not going to answer that,"

"I thought you might say so," Voldemort said amused and Harry looked at him suspiciously.

"Well, dear soul-carrier, we find ourselves in quite a dilemma..." Voldemort still sounded amused.

"I think the dilemma is all yours, Voldemort, I'm in the same position as I was before," Harry said coolly.

Voldemort laughed softly and Harry was surprised that it wasn't his usual cold laugh but one that was almost... human? "Is that so? I would have thought that you would want some more information out of me about the recent happenings..."

Voldemort had caught him there. Harry was desperate for information and Voldemort knew it. Still he wouldn't divulge the information so willingly.

"I propose an even trade... I'll answer a question of yours, and you can answer mine," saying this, Voldemort curled up on chaise like a coiled snake, dangerous, but subdued for the time being. Harry leaned back into the doorframe, one knee bent with the foot resting on the wall behind him and the other straight as an anchor.

"Fine," said Harry, "But I will not answer why I am the owner of the Elder Wand."

Voldemort hissed softly, but said, "Of course. You may begin."

"What's going on at Hogwarts?" Harry asked quickly, "and in the wizarding world?"

"Forever the chosen one, aren't you? Caring about his people... the perfect saviour," Voldemort mocked.

Harry remained silent, looking at Voldemort coldly.

"... Most of the members of Dumbledore's precious order have been locked up. The school has been taken over by my followers. After the downfall of Thicknesse, the ministry still remains under the control of the Aurors and the Order."

Harry said nothing. Hogwarts was taken over by Death Eaters... "What about the kids at Hogwarts?" he asked finally.

"After our untimely disappearance, the battle raged on between the Death Eaters and the Order. The Death Eaters won but because of my absence, they did not come out as well as I'd hoped. Ah, your precious little friends were able escape though ... seems as if your unmatched luck favoured them this time in regards of getting captured," Voldemort smirked at him at the last words.

Harry closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds, thankful that there hadn't been anymore deaths.

He then turned his face slightly away from where Voldemort sat and said, "I came to this manor willingly with you. Should I still choose to escape, I'm sure you would still have a hard time finding me."

"The horcrux Harry ... you forget your own existence. I could find you in the merest of moments."

"But the fact that my mind is closed to yours would still hinder you."

"Not considerably. But that brings me to a question of my own. Why is your mind no longer open to me?"

Harry sighed. He hated that every one of Voldemort's question would put him at a disadvantage yet everyone of his own would not affect the Dark Lord in the slightest.

"Think back to the Ministry... when Sirius died. You could possess my body for a long time without causing yourself pain, right?"

Voldemort inclined his head to show he remembered.

"Well," Harry continued, "according to Dumbledore, it was because I can _love_ and you cannot. Its the '_the power the Dark Lord knows not' _... because of that, I figured out that whenever I feel love for those I care about, you cannot even access my mind. So there is shield of sorts up between my mind and yours now."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, "Dumbledore's weak excuse surfaces yet again... fine be that as it may, but this, '_power the Dark Lord knows not_' ... I can only think it relates to the whole contents of the prophecy..."

Harry mentally smacked himself.

"Yes it does but I think it's my turn to ask now."

Voldemort gave him a slightly exasperated look but nodded once again, eyes upon Harry's scar now.

Harry shifted in his position against the wall slightly, "How did you know I'm a horcrux?"

"Elementary. The soul in a horcrux has the ability to flit out of its shell from time to time... and Nagini killed Snape. I'm sure you can put two and two together."

"But Snape was a powerful occlumens and the attack only lasted a few seconds," Harry stated, bewildered.

Voldemort stood up, and faced the window over the chaise, his back to Harry.

"The moment when death comes to take you puts you at your most vulnerable. No matter how powerful an occlumens you are, all shields come down as if made of nothing but vapour ... as for time, the memories were floating up to the forefront of Snape's mind anyway, since he knew he had to find a way to give them to you ..."

"I see," said Harry in almost a whisper. Nagini had seen the Half-Blood prince's memories as she'd killed him. After she'd reported her findings to her Master, Voldemort had probably followed Harry to Dumbledore's office where they'd then confronted each other...

"The true contents of the prophecy then, Harry," Voldemort said softly, back still to Harry, "this is, perhaps the most important question I'm asking you, far more than the Elder Wand... as it concerns both of our existences."

Harry found himself nodding despite the fact that Voldemort could not see him. He agreed completely. If '_Neither can live while the other survives_', then how would Harry still continue living as Voldemort's horcrux?

"I need a-"

Before Harry could finish, Voldemort had already waved his Yew wand and a pensive like Dumbledore's appeared on the coffee table beside the fireplace.

Harry walked over to it and put Draco's wand to his temple. He did not notice that Voldemort had turned around to look at him.

Thinking back to the time right after Sirius' death two years ago, Harry pulled his wand slowly away from his temple.

He looked at the glowing, sliver threads of memories hanging from his wand and shook them into the pensive. He then beckoned Voldemort with a nod and the two of them leaned close to pensive, falling into Harry's memories.

The office was quite different from the perfect state both Voldemort and Harry had seen it in when they'd left it two nights ago. The office from two years ago was in shambles, Dumbledore's worldly possessions lying in splinters and pieces all over the office. Voldemort looked around curiously and Harry felt a flush creeping up on his neck. He remembered his untameable anger all too well from that night, but looking around, he hadn't realized that he'd caused this much damage.

He was saved from explaining by the headmaster though, who sat back down on his chair behind the desk and prodded the pensive with his wand.

A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses. Sybil Trelawney then spoke and Harry's eyes strayed to where the Dark Lord stood beside him. He was, however, surprised to find that Voldemort's eyes were instead on the Harry from two years past, sitting on the chair in front of the desk. He looked terrible, with dark shadows under his eyes behind the cracked glasses. His untidy black hair was matted in places with blood and he sat with his hands gripping the base of the chair underneath him.

Harry was shocked to see how cold but pained his green eyes looked. The face was impassive, bordering on curious as he stared at the figure in the pensive but his eyes...

The figure then began to speak but Voldemort's crimson eyes stayed fixated on the younger Harry. Harry knew he was listening carefully though and he listened a bit distractedly, hands growing cold at the words that rasped out of Trelawney's mouth.

_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ...'_

Voldemort's eyes still stayed firmly on the past Harry.

_'And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ...'_

Voldemort's eyes snapped up to look at the revolving figure and then at Dumbledore. Dumbledore was staring at the figure, expression unreadable.

_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...'_

Voldemort's crimson eyes had hardened in anger now and Harry stared at him, confused. The world around them started to dissolve slowly and he felt himself rising up to go back to the current time. Harry looked around the room, disoriented as he always was when coming out the pensive. He then moved his eyes to Voldemort who was staring at the pensive, eyes still angry.

"What is it?" Harry asked confused, voice coming out, for the first time since he'd been brought here, not angry nor cold. Voldemort turned to him and he saw hesitation on the Dark Lord's face. Harry was even more confused now. He repeated his question, anger coming back into his voice.

"The prophecy ... has been tampered with."

"What?"

Voldemort did not reply but continued staring at the pensive. Harry could not believe his ears...

"Are you serious?"

Voldemort gave him distasteful look at his question and said, "Of course, I am. It was as plain as day. I'm sure if even you went back and looked at the prophecy, rather than stare at me as you did, you'd see the trace of magic and interference. A fifteen year-old boy however..."

Harry disregarded the part about him staring at Voldemort; it'd been Voldemort who'd been staring first, even if it was at his past self.

"So you mean to say, someone tampered with the prophecy in order to fool me?"

Voldemort nodded his affirmation, "And not someone, but Dumbledore himself."

"How can you be so sure?" It came out in a soft voice.

Voldemort mouth twisted slightly, "He was the only wizard powerful enough ... after myself of course," Voldemort smirked slightly at the last remark, but his eyes remained grave.

Betrayed. Over and over again. Harry took slow steps away from the table before turning around completely to leave the room. He needed to think... and be away from the one being whose presence had always been nothing but chaos for him.

He stepped out of the door, and practically ran down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, a cold voice interrupted his escape.

Harry stopped on the last step, teeth clenching. Of course, how would Voldemort be able to resist spiting and mocking him after such a back stab from his own side? He turned back to look at Voldemort.

Voldemort had the Elder Wand back in his hands. Seeing Harry's gaze, Voldemort tossed the wand towards him and Harry, reflexes sharp as ever, caught it, confused.

"You may not leave Little Hangleton. I also expect you back here by sunrise. We leave for Malfoy Manor in the morning."

Harry nodded, frowning and said, "This wand ..."

Voldemort's face remained indifferent as usual, but there was something strange in his eyes.

"You may keep it ... and use it."

Harry's mouth fell open. "What?"

"... In return, you will offer certain services to me. I'm sure you have realized by now that you have been reported missing in the wizarding world."

Harry's eyebrows knitted themselves; no, he had not realized that.

"Naturally, I intend to use that to my complete advantage ... the boy-who-lived, in league with the Dark Lord. I can imagine the headlines already..." Voldemort smiled coldly, eyes back to their original cruelty.

Harry swore out loud. The mansion shook slightly, ancient doors and windows trembling. Harry felt magic coursing through his veins alongside rage. He wanted to say something, just anything to cause the ruthless and apathetic man standing there the same amount of pain he was feeling at the moment.

Instead he simply turned around and walked out of the manor, as rain began to lash against the glass-paned windows.

* * *

><p>AN: Long chapter, I know, but necessary. I think most chapters from now on will come close to this length. They won't have this many dialogues though... this chap was pretty annoying to write, 'Harry said, Voldemort said, Harry said, Voldemort said'... and so on and so forth

The last chapter raised a few questions in the reviews and I'm really glad people are paying such close attention to the story. I'm also a little uneasy. I hope everyone realizes that this story begins near the end of DH when Harry has just found out from Snape's memories in Dumbledore's office that he is a horcrux. Voldemort finds out the same thing (through Nagini as mentioned above) and sort of kidnaps Harry from Hogwarts. So this is basically a twisted continuation of the amazing last book.

A LOT happens in this chapter so I'm just gonna list out some things that are key. If you think you're keeping up with my all-over-the-place writing, feel free to skip this:

Harry is a horcrux.  
>There is a prophecy about Harry and Voldemort, it's been tampered with by Dumbledore so true contents are unknown.<br>By the end of chapter, Harry is in possession of two Hallows, the wand and the ring, even if he doesn't know how to get it out of the snitch yet (he lost the cloak with his rucksack).  
>Harry's mind is closed to Voldemort because he can 'love' and Voldemort can't (direct reference to DH).<br>Harry's own wand broke, he was using Draco's wand. How Harry is the owner of the Elder Wand should have been clear in this chapter and it is the same as DH.  
>Voldemort knows (you don't know how yet) that Harry is the owner of Elder Wand, but he doesn't know how he came to be the owner.<br>Ministry is under the control of Aurors and Order; Hogwarts is closed, sort of a no-man's ground but mostly under Voldemort's control.  
>Hermione and Ron are alive and there are no 'new' deaths (Fred is still dead); Voldemort plans to use Harry against the light.<br>Harry's 'illuminating' answer in the first part of this chapter has something to do with the Hallows (as you all probably guessed).  
>Oh and you'll all get to see some Death Eaters next chap.<p>

So that's it relating to the plotline. This was a summary of sorts, hope it helped. I won't be updating for a while now, finals are coming up and I need to study, sorry.

Lastly, I'm also thinking of starting a new fic come Christmas holidays. Entity will still be my main focus but this story just won't leave my head.

It's a pureblood fic, focusing on the life from childhood to womanhood of the three sisters, Bellatrix, Narcissa and Andromeda, with special focus on Narcissa. Please review and tell me if you would be interested in reading something like that. I realize it's probably been done before... but it'll be different, quite honestly just because I'm the one writing it :P it'll also be serious with serious plotlines and lots of romance :) Pairings: Andromeda/Ted, Lucius/Narcissa and Bellatrix/Rodolphus but Bellatrix/Voldemort one-sided (with the exception of B/LV, I'm making it so that everyone meets at school)

And I'm out for now, hope to be back to updating soon. Please Review :) enough reviews and I'll update BEFORE finals (there is still like 3 weeks to go before them but yes, I am unashamedly bribing here).

Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP

A/N: I'm sorry... no excuses suffice for why I've delayed so long, so I won't bore you with them. More stuff to follow after the chap.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

'_No ... please, not Harry ... kill me instead...'_

'_Stand aside you silly girl...'_

And then a blood curling scream ... full of anguish and pain. Lord Voldemort was no stranger to such screams. His wand was as glorious as any sword when he brought it down to strike his enemies but also as deft and silent as the quick dagger, should he ever need it to be. He preferred it in the likeness of a dagger, of course. Death, he'd felt very early in his life, was a solemn business and therefore deserved to be carried out with with an air equally grave.

He always wondered why they screamed. 'Avada Kedavra' was a merciful killer. It was quick, painless. Yet most of them screamed, like she had done. Some, he had to give credit, did not... such as her son, Harry Potter. But then again, the boy had always been peculiar... an interesting specimen of the valiant and foolish beings that were the good 'wizards'. Wizards that said they stood against what he stood for, against the 'dark'.

Another ludicrous notion, the dark against the light... nothing but flip-sides to the same coin...

However, explaining this to them would be like explaining maturity to children... and Lord Voldemort had neither the tenacity nor the patience for children.

Eighteen years was a lengthy period of time, even for one out of the effects of time and death as he was. For eighteen years, his only obsession had been a mere boy... the one who was to have the _power_ to vanquish him, the one who could be his downfall. Every fibre in his being and even in his semi-existent state had been set upon killing this boy who had made his life a living pandemonium.

But now...

Now the boy was his horcrux... his soul carrier. No longer could he entertain thoughts of standing over his lifeless body, of jeering at the death of the boy-who-lived. He would have to be given utmost protection, akin to that of Nagini and perhaps even greater.

He would be protecting the prey... the thought made him uneasy, restless. The boy had been his challenge and the thought of the gaining the ever elusive victory over him had been relished countless times.

The promise of that victory had been wrenched from him and to say he was displeased was the least. His disposition had changed though, when the boy had taunted him with the Elder Wand and he'd realized it wasn't over. The boy was a willing prisoner, afraid to put the life of his friends in anymore danger than necessary, but not one that was broken. His power to love was also his greatest weakness... and Voldemort would use it to the fullest.

It was natural that he planned to use the boy for his own purposes. Locking him away in a dungeon away from the eyes of the world had been a tempting option. But it served no more purpose except to continue his immortal reign. Once upon a time, that would have been reason enough to doom the boy to eternal solitude... but not now. He grew weary of the tedious battles... he wanted his power, supreme conquest over the magical world. He was after all, as they called him, a Dark Lord. A new thought was relished now. _Harry Potter, on the dark side... leading an army against the light..._

The icon of righteousness, of hope would be tarnished. The wizarding world would crumble... and he would have the power to rebuild it to his ways, the ideals he knew to be right ingrained into every brick of every building. His victory would be two-fold... Harry Potter at his every command and the world at his feet.

He closed his eyes in pleasure at the thought, leaning back into the high-backed chair near the fire. He was still in the room the boy had taken as his own, not willing to move around the manor more than he had too. He detested the place and soon, they would be leaving it...

The crimson eyes slid open a slit, as the sound of something heavy sliding on the floor reached his ears. A pleasing hiss accompanied the sound and Voldemort closed his eyes again, letting a hand fall lightly to the side of the chair. Moments later, the magical snake wound up his arm, coming to rest with her head eye level to Voldemort, forked tongue lightly tasting the air around him.

Voldemort's other arm came up to caress her scales and Nagini hissed again, draping her coils around the chair he sat on. There was silence.

Then finally, he spoke, 'It was good of you to come, Nagini. I have a task for you. Harry Potter roams the grounds you have just searched. Stay quiet and follow him. Make sure he is unharmed.'

If the snake was surprised at the instructions, she did not show it. Instead, the coils unwrapped themselves as she slid onto the floor and then, without a single hiss, she was gone.

Voldemort leaned back again, eyelids lifting to reveal the crimson eyes beneath. _"Harry Potter..."_ he hissed softly to himself, _"things are about to take an interesting turn..."_ And then, for the first time in a long while, Lord Voldemort smiled to himself, the wild glee reminiscent of his childhood crossing his face once more.

xxx

As immobile as a statue, Harry Potter rested against the trunk of an overbearing willow. The pendulous branches and leaves created a curtain that hid most of the boy from view, protecting him from the rain that still refused to run its course. Still heavy with grey, the sky was now lightening, the sun trying to find a peephole between the drizzling clouds.

He could feel the world getting brighter from behind his eyelids yet still refused to open them. Opening them would begin the day and he wasn't particularly looking forward to it. The helpless feeling of clutching at slipping sand had been paramount inside him after last night's revelations and the morning brought only emptiness and a resigned acceptance.

He coaxed his eyes open slowly, looking around at his bleak surroundings. After fleeing from the manor, his feet had led him tirelessly through the thin forest that sprawled the east edge of Little Hangleton until he had found himself back in the graveyard. At first he had turned away as soon as he had caught sight of the open expanse that housed the graves and the weathered statues that wound around here and there between them. After a moment's thought however, he'd decided to stay. It was just one of many things he would have to brave now – in order to live his new and far more twisted life.

His thin but calloused fingers were curled around an ornate wand, holding it firmly to his side. He looked at it with a half-interest, not willing to fully comprehend the implications and the advantages of holding the world's most powerful wand in his hand. In the same trance-like state, he bought the wand up to face level, pointing at his jugular.

_Could it be that easy? Could he just speak a spell and end it all? _A hiss sounded directly behind him but he ignored it, still staring at the wand intently. No, of course not. It would never be that easy, never for the Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who didn't just hold his own life in his hands but the life of many others as well. He stowed the wand inside his pocket. He wasn't a coward, never would be.

Ashen faced and rigid bodied, he got up sluggishly and started to make his way down the small knoll that the tree crowned. The grass caught in his muddied sneakers and he could feel the water squelching between his toes. The hiss of something else manoeuvring through the wet grass followed not far behind him but he paid it no attention.

A small fence of barbed wire lined the side of the graveyard he'd entered through the past night, keeping out small animals and such from the forest. His initial grogginess now dissipating, he leapt over the fence in one stride and made his way back to Riddle Manor.

It was when he'd reached the steps of Lord Voldemort's ancestral home that his patience finally broke.

"_You've seen me from the Manor and back. Your job's done now isn't it?"_

There was a rustle in the over-grown grass to his left and a large green python emerged from its camouflage. The snake barred her fangs at him, shaking its head as if to say no.

"_I suppose he's forbidden you to speak directly to me then..." _

The snake stared at him still, unmoving. Harry gave her one last disdainful look and made his way up the steps.

Pushing open the double gates, he left a trail of water behind him as he made his way inside. The first sight his eyes met with was that of Voldemort, still standing imperiously on the top of the staircase. Looking at the still figure but the wild eyes, he wondered whether the Dark Lord slept at all or if he just roamed about all night, unable to rest his soulless body...

Voldemort's lips suddenly moved but Harry could discern no sound. He shook his head as his messy hair that had been plastered against his face showered the ground with raindrops. He ran a hand through it and muttered, "What?" his voice sounding hoarse and dead even to himself.

Voldemort gazed at him for moment.

"Nothing meant for you to hear," he finally said in his cryptic way.

Harry regarded him with about as much interest as a flobberworm does the world and made his way up the stairs and past him. Of course it wasn't meant for him to hear. He was just a tool, to be used and then discarded. Always had been, always will be. That was also one of the things he had come to terms with the previous night.

The room in which he'd stayed at was still as he had left it, Draco Malfoy's wand still on the side table and the precious contents of his moleskin pouch still on the ground. His eyes strayed to the wand. He missed its familiarity, he realized. Although the Elder Wand that the Dark Lord had so _graciously_ bestowed upon him felt fine in his hand, what with him being the true owner, just knowing the power of the wand and its history was enough to make him sick.

Harry walked over to it and picked it up as he heard the familiar slither behind him. He turned to find Nagini twisting about the doorway, dark slit eyes on him.

"_He waitsss for you..."_ the snake hissed at him. Harry didn't say anything. Instead he turned back and walked over to the chaise where his old clothes lay freshly laundered. Without a thought to the snake behind him, Harry stripped and pulled on the clothes, internally thanking Dusty for their warmth.

Then he walked over to where his moleskin pouch lay on the ground, kneeled and carefully gathered up the only possessions he had left one by one. His eyes saw past each object, his mind only noting their presence. His movements suddenly stilled then, when his hand grabbed onto the old mirror shard. He lowered his face, cautious of the snake behind him, and saw only his own green eye staring back at him. He then laid down the piece inconspicuously beside his knee and continued to put back the rest of his things. When he was finally done and the snake was hissing with impatience, he stood up soundlessly, taking care that his foot slightly pushed the mirror shard away from him, hiding it from view underneath the chaise. Straightening, he left the room without a backward glance, the snake following as she had all night.

Voldemort now stood downstairs with his back to him, facing the open doors. Harry walked over to him and stopped two steps behind, out of arm's reach.

A soft black cloth appeared out of nowhere and descended on his shoulders, shrouding him completely. The hood fell down to be in line with his nose but Harry was slightly surprised to note that he could still see through the cloth. He looked through the hood at Voldemort who now stood with his arm slightly away from his body as Nagini slithered up it, settling about his shoulders.

"Your identity will not be revealed until I deem it fit."

Harry did not respond, standing behind the Dark Lord silently. Voldemort then beckoned him forward, towards his right arm. Harry stepped forth and Voldemort grasped his upper arm slightly, disapparating the two wizards and the snake out of the manor.

xxx

Breakfast, once a boisterous event, had become a silent meal at the Burrow. Hermione and the Weasleys, missing the presence of Fred, sat quietly at the kitchen table where the scraping of knives and forks was the only heard sound. Even the chickens from the yard were quiet, as were the gnomes, their mischief about the overgrown garden forgotten. It had only been a week since the tragic Battle of Hogwarts and the loss of Fred, coupled with the Lupins' and many more, had put them all into dumbfounded silence.

The silence was still new; for the past week, the Burrow had still seen a flurry of activity. The remaining members of the Order and the injured had been moved there after both sides of the battle had retreated. Mrs. Weasley and the rest had had their hands full with trying to heal others and comfort them, their own grief pushed to the back of their minds as they worked manically. It had also been from where search parties were sent out for those who'd gone missing and among them, for Harry.

Then, as the week had gone by, the number of volunteers for the searches had thinned and last night, it had only been Mr. Weasley and the boys who'd gone to look. The Burrow had emptied, until all that were left were the ones seated around the breakfast table this morning, not knowing how to cope or what to do.

Suddenly – CRASH. All heads turned in unison towards the kitchen window where, before he'd had fallen to the ground, Errol had magnificently crashed into the closed window pane, completely ignoring the open one beside it.

Mrs. Weasley, usually the sharpest of woman, stared at the window with her mouth slightly open, not understanding how, in middle of such misery and pain, something even slightly comical had taken place. She made no effort to go fetch the owl, nor told any one of her children to do so but sat there, looking at the window as though it were a foreign object.

Suddenly, a rough laugh permeated through the stewy atmosphere at the table. This laugh startled them even more and now every single one of them had their mouths agape, staring in astonishment at George Weasley. Struggling a bit with his injured arm and not noticing their expressions, George got up off the table and went to the window, stretching out a hand to the rumpled but unhurt bird. Errol hopped up on the sill and extended his wrinkled leg out, quivering. George tried to fumble with the knot on the letters single-handedly, before Ginny Weasley, another contender for the least-likely-person-to-do-something-normal position got to her feet and helped him out.

The Weasleys' still had their mouths open. Ginny looked blankly at the post in her hands, as though trying to recall how to read again. But before she could muster up the brain-power, there was loud, wild twitter and Pigwidgeon the owl, or as he was fondly called by the rest of them, Pig, fluttered through the open window. He too was carrying a heap of letters and sagging underneath their weight. Unable to manage a decent landing in front of his open-mouthed master, he unceremoniously crashed into his cereal bowl instead, spilling milk and oatmeal all over a disgruntled Ron.

Hermione let slip a small squeak that could have a been a stifled laugh. Then George and Ginny sniggered together at Ron and at Pig, who was trying not to drown in the bowl with his miniature frame. This did it for Bill, Charlie, Percy and Arthur Weasley, each of whom gave a snort of laughter. Ron still sat there stunned, unable to even wipe the milk off. At seeing the look on his face, Fleur gave out a tinkling laugh from beside Bill and now Mrs. Weasley was the only one with her mouth still open invitingly to any flies that may have been zooming around the Burrow.

After a minute or so, she too gave a slightly twisted smile and a laugh, hurriedly wiping the tears away from her eyes at seeing her family laugh again. Mr. Weasley reached over and patted her slightly on the shoulder. She looked at him and smiled, then got up and with some of the old vigour back in her voice, said,"Hand those over here, Ginny. They might be from some of the Order."

And just like that, with two way-ward owls and a sopping Ronald Weasley the non-magical spell loosened it's otherwise tightening hold.

The kitchen seemed alive once more as it's occupants slowly became active again. Hermione took out her wand to vanish the cereal off of Ron while Charlie extended across from him to save Pig from drowning. Mr. Weasley and Percy took it upon themselves to dry the half wet mail and George and Ginny reseated themselves and continued with the breakfast. Mrs. Weasley waved her wand and the dishes started doing themselves, the running of the water and the scrubbing of the soap a comforting and homely sound.

Conversations were still hesitant to start though, and it was Bill who finally started one, addressing the complete family.

"So erm, what with everything that was going on, we never really got around to announcing it but..."

"Bill..." interrupted his wife, "Maybe zis isn't ze proper time...?"

"No," said George, surprising them once more. "Out with it. H-he... Fred," he swallowed before continuing, "wouldn't have wanted for all of us to be quiet. He would have wanted us to be normal, y'know. We were never a quiet family," he smiled at his mother, "so I don't see why we should start now."

At this, Mrs. Weasley dropped her wand and hurried to the other side of the table and latched onto her son, sobbing on his shoulder. He patted her shoulder and looking directly at his father said, "We still have a war to fight."

Mr. Weasley nodded grimly at his son and then looked back up expectantly at Bill.

"Well... we're having a baby!" he said, looking sheepish but still pleased.

Charlie and Percy hopped up and thumped him on the shoulder, while Mrs. Weasley hurried over to Fleur now and embraced her. George grinned and Ron and Hermione smiled at Fleur and then at each other, with Ron mouthing, "I'll be an uncle!" at which Hermione rolled her eyes.

They chatted happily about the baby and a little about how it would have been if Fred had been there. They still successfully ignored the elephant in the room, one that had grown in size when the boys had returned the previous night, alone. Even Ginny was able to overlook it, chatting with Fleur about names for the baby, until it flew in through the window and landed on the table with a thump.

Mr. Weasley, sitting at the head, stood up and reached over to pick up the Daily Prophet while Percy paid the delivery owl with a few knuts and sickles. His face, which had slightly more colour than the past few days, drained of blood completely and Mrs. Weasley glanced worriedly at him. He set down the paper and looked at Ginny. He had been privy to her budding relationship with Harry since the past two years.

Ginny looked at her father and then at the paper between them. "What does that say? What does that say about him?" her voice became more desperate, "Dad?"

"It says he's... dead."

The Weasleys looked shocked and it was Hermione that spoke up next, "They don't have any proof. They haven't... they haven't found... we'd have known! We've searched!"

Mr. Weasley scanned the paper again and nodded, "They seemed to have glossed over that part, saying that it was confirmed by the Death Eaters."

"The Death Eaters?" said George harshly, "Since when has the Ministry been chatty with them?"

"What else does it say, Dad?" Ron asked.

"Its... well," he cleared his throat, glancing at his wife, "I don't think it's right for you lot to read actua-"

But at that moment, Ginny had, with a glare at her father, snatched up the Daily Prophet. The others crowded around her.

The front page was obscured with a smiling picture of Harry, taken from his days as a Tri-wizard champion. Included beneath it, was an address from the new Minister for Magic himself, Gawain Robards. It read,

_To all witches, wizards and children, it is to my deepest regret and pain that I inform you that Harry Potter is no longer with us. _

_The Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen-One, as we had taken to calling him the in the recent years, was a brave and innocent young boy who faced many, many horrors in his short life. He was a ray of hope and mark of good for us all, with his mysterious victory over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was but a baby._

_I am not here, however, to discuss events that have been retold too many a times already. I am here instead, to appeal to the wizarding world to see the tragedy we, as a whole, committed against this young boy. We are as much responsible for his untimely death as are the Death Eaters._

_You see, after his surviving of the Killing Curse, we forced upon him the mantle of a hero and saviour, making him a celebrity when he should have been nothing but a young wizard with a tragic took away his childhood, his care-free years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and filled them with a past we should have helped him forget instead._

_We also, put on his young and unable shoulders, the complete weight of the wizarding world after the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We all kept going with false hope in our hearts that this boy, aged only fourteen, would be able to save us all. And at what? The word of an old headmaster who turned out to be, as I'm sure you all have read, more than a little deluded and secretive? In doing so, we also ignored that which could have helped us all along. Our Ministry!_

_Yes, the Ministry of Magic, built for the protection of wizards and witches all over Britain and ready to fight for their well-being! _

_There was a price for our ignorance. The life of Harry Potter. We have killed the last of the old Potter family. Why hadn't we expected it? Why hadn't we realized that such, such pressure on a young boy would make him only do the worse? That it would make him walk willingly into the lair of the Death Eaters to be killed._

_Alas though, as much as my heart pains at his fate, being Minister for Magic, I implore you to not lose heart. The strongest of our allies still stands with us, our Ministry and our people. It will be we, who will overcome the Dark. We who will take back what was taken from us and avenge Harry Jeremy Potter. I ask all of you to do you duty and to stand alongside the Ministry so that the soul of this young boy may be put to rest._

_Your faithful servant, _

_Gawain Robards  
>Minister for Magic <em>

They all reached the end of the page together and it was Ron who broke the silence with a word so unclean that his mother hissed at him, "Ronald!"

And then, they all began to speak at once.

"- How dare they? A young boy! A young boy! He was of age for goodness-"

"-Yeah sure, our ministry! Where was our ministry while people broke out of Azkaban left and right?"

"- Jeremy. Who the BLOODY HEL-"

"-Yeah we'll stand with you. When you've eaten your own balls mixed with-"

"That's quite enough, you lot," Mr. Weasley said quietly. He was still looking at his daughter, who had collapsed into a chair after reading.

She looked back at him weakly and said, "So... he could still be alive right?"

Ron put an arm around her shoulders, others looking a bit surprised at him being the first one to do so. "If he is, then we'll find him."

Ginny nodded and they were silent for a moment.

"Arthur..." said Mrs. Weasley, "We're not actually at blame for..."

"Please Mrs. Weasley! That's ridiculous!" it was Hermione who said this, surprising them all with her angry voice. "Harry would never run away. I know he wouldn't..." She looked pleadingly up at Ron, who nodded, though uncertainly. Hermione's frowned slightly and she made a mental note to ask Ron about it later.

"Don't worry yourself, Molly. I know Robards personally. He is the worst kind, with sweet words and the darkest of intentions," Mr. Weasley said soothingly.

"He's not affiliated with the Dark-"

"Oh no, that is not what I meant," Mr. Weasley sat back down on his chair before continuing, running a hand through his receding hair. "Imagine him as Barty Crouch Sr., only worse..." Percy looked annoyed at his old boss being compared to the new Minister for Magic but in the light of his recently smoothed over relations with his family, said nothing.

There was silence once again in the kitchen, though not the twisting, painful kind that had been before. This silence was thoughtful, filled with questions and worry. A silence to ponder the present and not the past.

George looked around quietly at his family, seeing the rigid posture of each, the set mouth and whirring thoughts inside them. This was, in a way perhaps, the best thing that could have happened. Not Harry's absence no, but something to else to fight against, something that they could oppose and something that would put them back into action. He would do his part, although the ache of not feeling Fred standing beside him, knowing what he was going to say even before he, himself knew, would be hard. But he would do it, for his family and for Harry most of all.

xxx

The scar twisting on his jaw stood out as he clenched his teeth for the millionth time.

_Tiresome and annoying beyond belief..._

How the impatient Dark Lord dealt with it all was beyond Harry's comprehension. Sure, more than a handful of Crucios had already been cast and more than a few had been reprimanded, but their constant pleading, moping and grovelling was unending. He was, of course, talking about the Death Eaters.

It had been an uneventful week at Malfoy Manor and uneventful was stretching the truth to the maximum. In truth, it had been infuriatingly dull. At their arrival at the manor, Voldemort had introduced him as an 'important friend' and had sternly ordered Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy to keep him unbothered and away from eyes for the time being as he was 'recovering'. The slightly redeemed family had gladly obliged and Harry had been stuck in his spacious room all week, with food being bought to him at regular intervals by a sullen faced elf.

So when this fine morning he'd been woken by a large python sitting casually on his bed, even shock had been a welcome change from the endless worrying and plotting. After he'd yelled and fallen out of bed, Nagini had informed him, with some amusement in her hiss, that his presence was required by Voldemort. At first he'd been glad that some of the rather dangerous and foolish schemes he'd thought up would not have to be used to gain Voldemort's attention. Now he wished he'd used them instead of being subjected to this... there was no other word for it, torture.

In the extravagant dining hall of the manor, a series of wizards and witches were gathered. Some had been given the honour of sitting on the table, while others were made to stand against the walls. Voldemort himself sat at the head of the table, Nagini still around his shoulders. As the weather was warmer here than Little Hangleton, no fire blazed behind him and Voldemort's terrible face, often twisting as he taunted his followers, was in plain sight for everyone.

For everyone except Harry, who'd been made to stand right behind Voldemort, as though watching over him. He wasn't happy with the arrangement. It put him in plain view of the other Death Eaters, despite the heavy cloak keeping his true identity from being revealed. His legs were also now starting to ache but he didn't dare shift his stance. This was ground he would have to tread carefully and bringing more attention to him, especially while the others were distracted, was the last thing he wanted.

They had, until now, discussed the role of each and every Death Eater in the battle to great length. Those that hadn't done their part as was required by their lord were punished with crucios and then leered at by the rest of the Death Eaters. The number of Death Eaters that Voldemort was happy with were down to single digits and the apprehension on the other faces shone with glistening sweat. After two-three crucios, Harry barely felt sick any more at sight of limbs bending unnaturally and the echoing screams. He still had the luxury of looking away though, as none could see his eyes underneath his hood.

Just when he'd started contemplating what the result of him impulsively removing his hood would be, the talk had turned to something more interesting, namely what was going on at the ministry and Harry forced himself to start paying attention.

"M-my Lord, the Ministry has given most of it's employees leave after the battle. Only the Aurors are allowed inside. It is said to be going through some sort of reform..." The speaker was a yellow-eyed man with gaunt features. The face looked as though it was normally stern but it was reduced to a cowering mess in front of Voldemort. Harry fought to recall his name, knowing he'd seen the Death Eater off many times. He felt as though his brain had been dulled with periods of extreme shocks and then periods of inactivity, making him unable to concentrate. Not to mention the oppressive atmosphere of the meeting that was taking its toll on him steadily.

"Is that so?" Voldemort said slowly.

"Yes, my lord. Dawlish was able to send me only a fleeting message. They've been working them day and night."

"Is that so?" Voldemort said again, then continued, "I merely thought Dawlish was avoiding me after his less than satisfactory attempts to kill Gawain Robards and have him replaced..."

The man said nothing, beginning to perspire. Before Harry could place bets against himself about whether the messenger would be shot, a muggle saying, the front doors burst open. Harry finally moved, head jerking up as he beheld none other than Bellatrix Lestrange strutting into the room, dragging along some poor man in her wake. Giving the man a prod with her wand, after which he sank to his knees, she addressed Voldemort with a voice so uncharacteristically sweet that Harry had to keep from gagging.

"My Lord, I apologize for being late... I was held up by this filth here," she gave the man another prod, this time with her foot.

"And what news...?" Voldemort trailed off expectantly.

Bellatrix grimaced slightly as she pulled a newspaper from beneath her cloak and had it passed to Voldemort. Harry lowered his eyes to look over his shoulder and was surprised to find a picture of himself staring up at him, smiling aloofly.

Voldemort read through the article once, while Harry looked back at the Death Eaters. He couldn't read very well over the Dark Lord's shoulder without the others noticing... he would just have to get the paper for himself later. After reading, Voldemort placed the paper on the table and let out a small disappointed sigh, at which the Death Eaters flinched, wondering whose blunder had caused the sigh to escape. When Voldemort spoke next though, Harry clenched his teeth and cursed himself for not having read the article while he'd had the chance, appearances be damned.

"The Boy-Who-Lived never does run out of uses, does he?... even in death." The Death Eaters risked glances up at Voldemort, not knowing whether he was angry.

So they'd presumed him for dead... already? He didn't know what to think. It could possibly be Voldemort's own ploy to have him announced dead and then reveal he was alive and working with the enemy. Though he had to admit, it was also just as likely that the Ministry was brewing something foul again...

"Dawlish," Voldemort continued motioning at the man who'd spoken before, "will have to punished be even more so than before, I'm afraid. Robards is turning out to be a far more pressing problem than I'd imagined..."

"My lord," Bellatrix said with an eager, malicious smile, "I believe I can be of further help." Voldemort turned back to her and she continued, "This is Williamson. A low ranking Auror at the ministry. I've managed to capture him and have brought him here as my prisoner, my lord."

Voldemort looked up at her coldly and Bellatrix's smile faltered. The other Death Eaters who had been watching with interest suddenly found the walls opposite them most interesting.

"Oh he is your prisoner, is he?" Voldemort said dangerously and Harry suppressed a shiver. "Then what is he doing here, Bellatrix? ... Why have you brought me something not mine?"

Bellatrix looked horrified and started stuttering for the first time since Harry had seen her. "P-please m-my lord!" she said breathlessly, "That isn't what I meant! It was never ... He is your prisoner, of course, I'm just doing your bidding, my lord. Everything I have ever done, everything I ever do will always be– "

"Stop your incessant blubbering," growled Voldemort, "I must wonder whether someone as incompetent as you are proving yourself to be can even manage to extract information effectively out of _your_ prisoner."

Bellatrix looked as though someone had slapped her and Harry hid a smile. It gave him immense satisfaction to see Bellatrix reduced to such a state. She deserved so much worse...

On Voldemort's other side, Nagini hissed softly at her master, too low for him to hear and Harry's smile slipped off. He was sure Nagini had just told Voldemort Harry's amusement at his treatment of Bellatrix. His doubts were confirmed when Voldemort motioned him forward and Harry felt himself moving forward on his own, against his will.

"My young friend here, whose identity is kept from you for the time being," at this he smiled a small smile, falsely apologetic, "is quite adept at torture. I am sure he will have no qualms about showing you how it's done, Bella."

It was Harry's turn to be horrified. Everyone in the room was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a show. Bellatrix's was staring at him disbelievingly, lips pursed firmly at the insult. He in turn looked at the helpless man on the ground, silenced against his will and staring at Harry pleadingly. He turned again to look at Voldemort, who was smiling a lipless, cruel smile at him.

Bellatrix noticed his hesitation and said quickly, "Perhaps, my lord, he is not up to the task. If you'll allow me-"

Voldemort silenced her with a look. Harry turned his back on Voldemort, staring at Bellatrix, her words from two years ago echoing in his ears. 'You have to _mean_ them, Potter...'

The nagging thought he'd been trying to ignore before came to the forefront of his mind: the killer of Sirius was standing in front of him. The woman who had killed so many people... tortured Neville's parents. Bellatrix scowled as Harry's own face twisted into a snarl. He walked from his place beside Voldemort to stand in front of Williamson, who tried to crawl away. Slowly taking out the Elder Wand from the depths of his cloak, he pointed it at Williamson. He glanced back at Voldemort, who was watching with rapt attention, smile widening in excitement.

At the last moment however, instead of cursing the Auror, he pointed the wand at Bellatrix and rasped out, "Crucio!"

The Death Eaters surrounding them visibly blanched, some even bringing their hands to cover their mouths as Bellatrix Lestrange let out a piercing scream. Her back arched into a perfect curve, her unruly, wild mass of hair touching the ground. Harry's wand arm did not waver. Bellatrix's limbs started to contort at painful angles and she was panting now, amid excruciating screams. Her eyes rolled into her head and her hands started to claw at her body, as though trying to carve her insides out.

After some time, Harry ended the curse with a simple, modest gesture of his arm. Bellatrix's screams died down and the room was silent. Williamson, who had been watching Harry as though he was his saviour, threw himself down at his feet. To keep up with his heartless facade, he disentangled himself from the man harshly and made his way back to Voldemort's side, without looking at anyone. He stopped when he was back in his old spot and turned around to face the room, head still held high.

Bellatrix got up unsteadily, holding onto a chair for support. She looked at Harry murderously, still panting slightly. Her own ebony wand flashed in her hand but before she could return the favour, Voldemort spoke sharply.

"Bellatrix, take the Auror down to the dungeons and do with him as you please. The rest of you are dismissed for the day."

Chairs scraped on the polished floor as the Death Eaters got up, bowed and filed out one by one, eager to leave. Bellatrix used her wand to drag Williamson out, un-silencing him and letting his screams for mercy ring out over the whole manor.

Eventually, the screams died down and the room emptied with only Harry, Voldemort and Nagini left inside. With a wave of his hand, Voldemort closed the oak doors that led out. Without looking back at him, Voldemort gestured for him to take a seat. Harry stiffly walked over to the chair just right of him and placed his hands on it, looking at Voldemort.

Voldemort raised his crimson eyes to him and Harry said smoothly, "Are you sure you want me to sit? I was sure that honour was saved for your most esteemed Death Eaters only..."

Voldemort let out a chuckle. "If they were esteemed then you were honoured beyond your wildest dreams, standing behind me as though my most trusted. Or did you not notice the envious stares from behind that cloak?" With another motion of his finger, Harry's hood fell off to reveal his face.

"Oh no, I merely thought that the surly expressions were a Death Eater trademark," Harry muttered sarcastically and sat down, not looking at Voldemort.

They were both quiet for a minute, Voldemort staring openly at Harry and Harry examining the wand still in his hands. _My most trusted..._ he'd said. Though he knew Voldemort trusted no one, he had to wonder... the wand in his hands, the memories that Harry had seen of himself through Voldemort's eyes. There was no denying it, Voldemort was, more or less, obsessed with him. The thought made something burn in the pits of his stomach and he dismissed it as revulsion. What he wanted was for that obsession to turn into trust... and then hopefully, Harry could save the world from Voldemort's dark regime, even if he could not save himself...

His mind then turned to another ruthless regime and he said abruptly, "The article, I'd like to read it."

Prepared for a refusal, Harry was surprised when the paper slid in front of him on its own, straightening itself.

He pulled the paper closer and started to read, not taking notice of Voldemort's eyes still on him. Instead of getting angry, Harry ended up finding the article entertaining. The mistakes were glaringly obvious such that they almost seemed deliberate. He knew the address would still do its job properly and it was settled that the Ministry _was_ up to something... After finishing, he pushed the paper away and leaned back, meeting Voldemort's eyes again.

"How nice it must be to fight for people who hold you in such high regards..." said Voldemort and Harry almost smiled at the remark, knowing somethings would never change.

Scoffing outwardly, he said, "What would you know about fighting for others?"

"Not much," Voldemort admitted, "but enough to know how foolish it is. Which is why I am the only one I deem good enough to waste my efforts on..."

"Yes, I know" Harry said with a exaggerated sigh, "You're quite the arrogant git. And I've begun to think that maybe you just can't help it... especially after today."

Voldemort smirked, unfazed. "You're not feeling sorry for Bellatrix, are you? Her and others like her need to be subdued... I was merely doing what should be done. Though I must say, even I haven't put her in her place quite as firmly as you did in a long time."

Harry shrugged, too unbalanced at the moment to knock wits further with the Dark Lord. Though he had done it nonchalantly, the curse had taken a lot out of him, physically and mentally. His conscious was at battle with him at the very moment and Voldemort's ridicules only worsened it.

Voldemort stood up and turned his back on him, staring at the family portrait of the Malfoys hanging over the fireplace. "It wasn't wise... torturing her as you did. She is a remarkable duellist, I admit to having made her so. She will waste no time in coming after you to seek revenge..."

"She deserved it... for killing Sirius. And after all, it was she who taught me how... that I have to _mean _my curses," Harry said, scowling again.

"A simple taunt isn't enough to teach an unforgivable curse ... You have considerable talent for the dark..." Voldemort's tone was almost appreciative.

Harry raised his brows and said, "Thinking of taking me on as your apprentice?"

"I cannot deny any longer how much you remind me of myself... and Dumbledore's delicate views on education were never fit enough for anyone I'd be willing to place by my side."

"I am nothing like you," Harry said, mouth set.

"Your effortless performance today says otherwise," replied Voldemort, knowing his every nerve.

"Effortless?" Harry spluttered, "you know nothing. We might've been born similar, but it's my choices that made me what I am today." Dumbledore's words from five years ago still rang clear in his head and he knew them to be true... despite having to scrutinize everything else that the headmaster had spoken of.

"Yes..." Voldemort said, leering, "such an excellent choice to be a pawn for wizards far more powerful than you. Don't deny it ... It is no secret that Dumbledore danced you about on the tips of his fingers and now, I will do the same..."

"I did as Dumbledore asked of my own free will because I trusted him," Harry was on his feet now, looking up at Voldemort furiously, his voice escalating as he kept going, "You, on the other hand, I loathe. You're cowardly and you deserve nothing but hatred for all the crimes you've committed ... Tearing apart innocent families, killing my parents, killing every single one of the few people that could watch over me, protect me. And for what? A prophecy that turned out to be false! And to what end? An end at which you can't even kill me!"

Harry gave a mirthless laugh, "Your impulsiveness to save your own neck has made the pawn you say I am ... If I do what as you say it's only because you hang a bloody noose over my head. No, not for my life... which now means more to you than it ever did for me. But for the only people WHO'VE EVER CARED ABOUT ME!

"We're both orphans, aren't we? You sought power to take away the emptiness inside but all I ever wanted was a family. JUST A NORMAL LIFE! And one way or another, it was always because of you that I lost every chance of it!" Harry's voice was cracking with strain and Voldemort was staring at him with a flinty anger in his own eyes.

"And yeah, If I did cast the curse successfully," he continued remembering Voldemort's jibe, "it's 'cause I loathe her, as I loathe you. I hate her for what she did, for taking away the only family I had left! It's 'cause of you I had to stay with the Dursleys, that I couldn't even spend the small time I had with Sirius. Which is why hatred doesn't make me anything like you. I have the right, a more than enough reason to hate you and your pathetic Death Eaters."

Spitting out the last, Harry was left panting with his throat constricted painfully, not trusting himself to say anymore. He felt as if he would either fall apart at any moment or go into another rage. Feelings he'd bottled up against one, single man that hadn't ever found their outlet had just whooshed out of him in minutes. He felt light-headed and unsteady.

Unlike Harry, Voldemort stood rigid, crimson eyes bleeding fury. His long fingers were splayed wide beside him, as though he itched to scar Harry again. "If you _loathe_ me with such intensity then go ahead ... Try out your righteous anger against me, Potter! Cast it."

Harry's heart jumped to his throat, "Cast what?" he croaked out, knowing full well what.

"Crucio me, Harry."

_Cruciate Lord Voldemort_ ... Taking a shuddering breath, Harry stepped back from the Dark Lord and raised his wand arm; it trembled. Harry looked at the arm as though it wasn't a part of him, a part of someone else entirely. It was the same arm that had stood so still in a room full of Death Eaters while he ruthlessly tortured a woman who had killed _one _person he held dear. It now trembled when he was given the chance to do the same to one who had killed so many. His parents, Dumbledore... even Snape but his arm still trembled. His mind was at war with himself again, sending him snide thoughts. _It would never work... he's a Dark Lord. This is stupid... he isn't worth it. You've already tortured someone... haven't you quenched your thirst for pain yet?_

What made him agitated was that he knew these were excuses, mere excuses, generated by his own mind... Or were they? His eyes had gone back to Voldemort, seeing past him as he battled with himself, but now he stared into the red eyes sharply. Was Voldemort planting false thoughts into him again? Making him hesitate so that he would come over to his side?

"You... you're putting thoughts into my head. Wasn't once enough? Fine, I won't curse you. I doubt it would work anyway. But just... get the _hell out of my head_!" he said the last through grit teeth, backing away from Voldemort and fisting a hand through his hair.

"I am not invading your mind," snarled Voldemort, "Your thoughts are your own..." Voldemort softly hissed the last, but to Harry it seemed louder than Bellatrix's screams.

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" Harry yelled now, voice cracking with strain, "I hate you... I want nothing more than to kill-"

Words failed to express the overwhelming anger inside him. Angrily, pushing away the thoughts clouding his mind and forcing his benumbed body to move, Harry raised the Elder Wand. Memories and pictures started passing through his mind at blinding speed.

_Lily Potter smiling, hand-in-hand with her husband ... Snape crying over his mother's body ... Dumbledore lying lifeless ... Sirius falling through the veil ... George crying over Fred ..._ and then images that his brain dreamed up, _Ginny lying unconscious ... Ron staring him with hatred on his face ... Hermione with tears in her eyes ..._ and then another image, that he'd seen before inside Voldemort, _his own blank face morphing into a young Tom Riddle's, pained and yelling, "Die..."_

He forgot he was a horcrux, forgot the Dark Lord's immortality. Nothing mattered.

Harry Potter raised his arm, "A-Avada-" and Lord Voldemort stood facing him, scarlet eyes widened and face ghostly...

Then darkness... Harry was falling. Somewhere, someone was reaching out to him with a cry... and then he knew no more.

xxx

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><p>AN: Gee, for someone who wants forgiveness for the late update I'm not exactly doing myself any favours by ending at a cliff, am I? Ah, brutal but necessary. Next chapter will be updated soon (Yes, yes it will be... it most definitely will be) even before my other fic. Which is up by the way, and getting absolutely no love. I didn't expect it to. I call it my guilty pleasure... hopefully people will see why I'm so attracted to it once I've updated that too. No obligations, but if you're bored, give it a try.

Now some stuff about the plot:

You might notice that LV and HP's argument has changed drastically. It's gone from Harry saying they're similar to Voldemort saying they're similar. It's a blunder and it's deliberate. The thing about exams is that when you force yourself to stay away from online distractions etc. to study, your mind starts fantasizing. I fantasized about this fic. I have a firm direction, plot and ending for it now (applause). Which means that the other chapter are a teency bit out of sync. I will not edit them right now, its too much of a distraction. Instead, if I have to make some change, I'll tell you lot about it like this. There is nothing major, don't worry.

Next, the Weasleys and 'good' side. I will NOT and I repeat, I will NOT just make the whole of light side suddenly turn into hypcrites that never loved Harry. It's stupid and an insult to J.K. Rowling since I haven't said that this fic is AU. If it was an AU, then I could do as I please but since it's not, I have incorporated their goodness into the fic. You won't see too much of them, its still HP/LV centric.

Ginny: Ginny loves Harry, Harry 'cares' about her. End of story, it'll all be settled later on.

What-the-fuck happened in the end: You'll see what and why in the coming chapters. I would love some theories ;)

Harry's rant: It was a lousy week and I wrote the whole part with Harry yelling yesterday on whim. It was nice to vent and I think Harry deserved a chance to do that too. Plus, it ties in with the plot superbly... except you get hanged over a cliff for this chapter.

Next some review replies (my, i should call these A/E: author essays). To those who don't care, you're free to leave... I won't say anymore about this fic. I won't do it all the time but I'm doing this publicly today because the reviews were awesome, and some questions might be going around in other people's heads too. If you reviewed, its a good idea to quickly glance through the bolded names.

**Elelith** who said this fic has to potential to reach the standards of Death of Today and Twist of Fate. You made a blushing mess on the floor with rainbows spewing out of my mouth. That kind of praise is dangerous. Save it for when I deserve it but thanks :$

**ThePotterFreak** the reason why Harry doesn't run away or even kill himself is because LV would go into an All-Caps-Rage against the Order trying to bait/find him. Harry, especially after the events of the seventh book, would never want to place anyone else in danger for him. Ever.

** and some other people **Lol, reading about Harry falling for LV's devilishly handsome looks is something I love doing (guilty!) but again, this is not AU - I won't mess up Voldemort's character by suddenly giving him a new face... so keep reading but beware that Tom Riddle's face may make an appearance as a disguise.

**To everyone who was worried about the invisibility cloak**: It's so adorable. I know how much of a part of Harry the invisibility cloak is. We'll see it again, but its disappearance was necessary for the time being.

**ladyoflilacs and some other people who said Voldemort is scary:** YAY!

**dalistar123 and anyone else who is wondering about Dumbledore **No, I love Dumbledore and often fantasize about what it would've been like to have such an awesome grandpa. The prophecy IS false (just some changes in the wording) but Dumbledore is not evil.

**Anon** Cliche prophecy fakingness. Yep, but it's my first fic and its SLASH and I'm no whiz at writing. So even though I feel the rest of the plot is pretty unique, I did succumb to a cliche. I'm glad it was unexpected though.

**Long chapters:** Long enough? 8k+ I think.

**Zenith/The Highest Place** **and to everyone about in-character stuff:** You are all too kind and thanks. I'm glad you find them mostly in character. I'm nervous about the insight-into-Voldemort part, review and tell me how it went?

Please review some more and thanks for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

_Then darkness... Harry was falling. Somewhere, someone was reaching out to him with a cry... and then he knew no more._

He was floating, weightless and unsupported. Disembodied voices called to him but it was as though his mind had forgotten how to comprehend, had become a mind like that of a new-born babe. He saw many a colours and flashes of visions but he recognized none. He was content, yes. To be floating in nothingness, no weight on his shoulders, no responsibilities and none of that underlying guilt or pain.

How nice it would be to just stay in such a way forever... but perhaps, it would be a little lonely. More than just a little lonely, maybe. With nothing to act as an anchor or as a support, to be alone forever.

One would think that he'd be used to it by now, born an orphan and deprived of normality due to his fame. But at the thought of complete and utter isolation, the contentment was slipping away and fear was settling in. Would he be formless then, if he continued to float here? Would he cease to exist? _Would it even matter if he did?_

Nothing, no one, was a constant in his life. People came, people went and with one spell cast, everything changed.

_'And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...'_

There was... but no... these words were false, the prophecy containing them was false. And yet, the dependency was true, was it not? Whatever may have come, Lord Voldemort had always been present. A fear, a fatal enemy, an object of hatred and loathing and even someone to blame, when his life was unfair... but he'd always just been. Life without Voldemort would, surely be easier to live but... unimaginable as well. Harry was, in a certain perspective, defined by Voldemort. From before the time he'd even come into existence, Voldemort's fate had twisted with his own in inexplicable ways. It was a pitiful existence, to live simply because there was someone whose destiny was tied to you. But it was still an anchor wasn't it? Something that allowed him to be tied to life and to not just float around aimlessly. It was a reason to live.

And suddenly, he was formless no more. The visions and colours around him combined to form a familiar place. The visions became a dark sky, a stretching forest and the deep expanse of a lake. Behind him rose a castle, as magnificent as he remembered it, with its lights twinkling reassuringly at him. The whispers became a wind that stirred the trees and he found himself standing in the grounds of Hogwarts, a marble tomb in front of him. 'That was very good, Harry. I've always been very proud of your ability to reason things out. They may take you a while, but you do seem to get there, eventually.'

A painstakingly familiar voice. One he hadn't heard for so long but had yearned to, endlessly. The voice of his old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Harry looked around, peering over the the closed tomb with deep cracks on its surface but the headmaster was nowhere in sight. The voice spoke again and Harry found himself staring at the wide sky, as though the voice was raining down upon him from the heavens.

'Harry, you must be quite cross with me. I have done you no favours, I know...'

A lump rose in Harry's throat. He'd imagined yelling at Dumbledore countless of times, wishing the headmaster would appear in front of him just so he could ask why and demand explanations. But now that he was here, or some form of him at least, Harry could only feel loss and pain.

'Ah, Harry... Your ability to love, even when others have wronged you so, is and always will be, your strongest power.'

Harry finally found his voice and whispered his response, somehow knowing Dumbledore would hear it all the same. "I need no power now, Professor. I'm helpless... how can I defeat someone that lives inside me?"

'There is more to this than you can see and more than I have let you see, my dear boy. Perhaps even more than I, myself have seen... and regretfully, ignored.'

"What are you trying to say?" Harry asked the heavens pleadingly, begging the old headmaster to be, for once, clear.

'Come to this tomb, Harry. You must find answers in signs I have hidden preciously. Bring Voldemort with you... you must find the answer together now. For without each other, you truly have no hope...'

And with those words, his surroundings were dissolving. Harry struggled to reach out, to ask more answers to endless questions but the castle and the tomb faded and Harry disappeared into a void once again.

xxx

As the boy thrashed about wildly in his sleep, the hands of the figure that stood beside him clenched themselves in anxious anger. The boy's head lolled from side to side, strings of senseless words escaping his lips. He sweat in copious amounts, the sheets drenched and falling halfway to the floor. He needed help.

Lord Voldemort knew he did, but he refused for anyone other than him to even come close to the boy. The reason wasn't something as trivial as his identity or a lack of wanting the boy to come out of his unconsciousness. It was a fierce protectiveness instead, one that the Dark Lord himself hadn't known he'd held for the boy. Seeing his vulnerable state, the damp, perspiring skin and matted hair, the lips that framed a soundless scream... it wasn't something he could let others see.

Comforting or taking care of others was not something Lord Voldemort did. He'd managed by relying purely magic for the past two days, automatically filling the boy's stomach with sustenance and water. The problem, he knew, was not physical. Harry Potter was stuck somewhere deep in oblivion, the side effect of his attempt to kill him.

No healer or warlock was practised in magic such as this. Magic which dealt with the consciousness was reserved only for practised legilimens due it's sensitive nature. Having already abused the magic many times, he would have had no reservations in plunging forth into the boy's mind, finding his conscious and dragging him out. He would have done so, had the boy's mind not remained firmly closed to him, barring all access.

_Grief and love, indeed, _Voldemort thought with a scowl. The same grief and love was now preventing the boy's life to be saved. Continued residence in a consciousness yielded similar results as to someone being subjected to a Dementor's Kiss. Lifeless, but living. The boy's heart would beat and he would breathe but he would not be... alive.

Voldemort, who'd begun pacing the room, suddenly stilled. _The boy's heart would beat and he would breathe_... meaning, he would serve his purpose of being his horcrux, and be unable to fight against him. So then... why was he so opposed to the idea? It was understood that the boy was a credible tool to achieve his means, but was he really worth the effort Voldemort suddenly found himself putting into saving his life?

He glanced again at the boy. He looked pitiful, chest heaving and hands clawing as though to hold onto something. The defined features were twisted in agony, and the lean body splayed wide in his discomfort. No... it was not an attraction stemming from physical attributes, despite their appeal. It was because of _who_ the boy was instead. The object of his obsession and now protection.

Voldemort walked over to the bed, a hand reaching out to the boy's forehead, adorned with the scar that made him his. _Yes, his own..._ the words were pleasing, as was the idea. His fingers were an inch from the boy now, hesitating. Never had he touched someone, in such a way... not as a caress, as something... intimate. Of course, he had experience in _physical matters_ from his youth, when his hormones too had been rampant and an annoyance. But it was a done deal and in later years, the temptation of power had been far more seductive.

The hand met with the boy's forehead. He rested it palm first, lightly above his eyes. Immediately, he felt the body beneath him relax. There were only soft murmurs now, and hands still twitching as though to hold something.

Unbidden, he felt his other hand snaking it's way to one of the boy's. Their hands clasped, and the murmurs became only quivering lips. Voldemort held stock still, captivated by the his vulnerability. Moments later, the boy was asleep.

With a sigh unlike him, Voldemort let go of the boy, stepping away quietly. The boy still remained asleep, finally calm after his week long ordeal.

_Week long..._ That made it a little over two weeks from the time that everything had changed. Two weeks ago, had someone dared to tell him that he would be holding Harry Potter's hand on his sickbed, he would have killed them. And yet, despite that, nothing really had changed. _Loathing..._ Of course the boy hated him. Voldemort knew, though he never said it, that his horcrux was planning something against him. Not to kill, which was impossible now, but to somehow spare the lives of his little friends. Voldemort let out a scoff and Harry stirred, tossing his head towards where Voldemort stood. Extending a thin, pale finger, he moved away the hair covering the boy's scar, making it clearly visible again.

They would see what friendship would survive the revelation of the Boy-Who-Lived being on the Dark side. He would have to choose, yes... ones that understood would be spared and those who didn't would be left to the mercy of his Death Eaters.

It was more than a fair enough exchange, wasn't it? It was how the world worked. The boy would have to learn that there was no such thing as true friendship. One did not create relations with the intention to honour them. They did so according to what would benefit them. Even theirs was a relation as such. Harry was Voldemort's horcrux, needed to keep him alive and be protected. In exchange, Voldemort would refrain from caging him and spare some lives of Dumbledore's pathetic order.

Voldemort moved closer to the boy, cupping his sleeping face. And perhaps, in return of a few extra lives spared, Voldemort would be able to get something else he desired as well. Not mere carnal pleasure... which was just the wrapping on the gift hidden underneath. No... he wanted the boy's heart. Complete and utter surrender... to the point where he could not, would not be able to live or breathe without him. The boy would be his and only his, a possession more precious than any he had ever had, or ever would.

xxx

It was night when Harry came back to the current, deep from within the confines of his mind. His throat was parched, and when he opened his eyes to see, his vision blurred more than usual. After a few tries, he sat up, hands and joints so weak that they could barely support his weight. It did not feel as though he had been asleep. His tiredness could be related to how he remembered feeling after particularly nasty Quidditch matches but the mental fatigue he felt was unlike anything else.

He shivered slightly, despite the covers that had been piled on top of him. He felt clammy and cold, the stink from his own sweat almost unbearable. He desperately needed to bathe... but first some water. Reaching over to the side-table, his hand groped around for his glasses and Dumbledore's old wand. Each time his hand touched something else, he flinched. Every single nerve in his body hurt.

A slight weight settled on his lap and Harry started, surprised to find his glasses and his wand laying neatly on his covers. Pushing the glasses on clumsily, he held the wand up to his mouth and croaked, "Augamenti." His adam's apple bobbed with every large gulp, throat gurgling. Ending the spell, he stilled, conscious of someone watching him.

"Who's there?"

The room was completely dark, and Harry whispered, "Lumos," filling the room with an eerie while light. No presence revealed itself and Harry put out the light after a moment, leaning back into the pillows.

"I suppose I can still sense you, even if you've disillusioned yourself..." Harry said quietly, looking at his shaking hands and wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

A chuckle, and then a warm presence beside him. A hand placed itself on his forehead and Harry became motionless in shock. The hand pressed firmer upon his forehead, until he was forced to lie back down. Heart thudding, Harry struggled to find his voice. A finger then placed itself upon his lips and another chuckle was heard.

_'Sleep,' _the voice commanded with a hiss and Harry glared defiantly in the dark.

"No, I want to get up," he said, voice muffled against the finger.

_'Sleep,' _the hiss was stronger now and Harry shivered again. Stubborn as he was though, he kept his eyes wide open, still glaring in the dark.

The hand on his forehead moved farther up to his hair, thumb caressing his scar. He felt no pain, only warmth. Slowly, against his will, his eyes drooped and his breathing became slow and deep once more. Before completely losing the battle, Harry heard another hiss, this time not directed at him. '_Keep an eye on him...'_

The hand removed itself, leaving Harry feeling somewhat of a loss. His eyelids still felt heavy but something nagged him at the back of his mind, telling him to stay awake. "W-wait," he whispered, "I have to tell you something..."

"It can wait," Voldemort said normally, still invisible.

"Dumbledore... came to me while I was..." he trailed off, no word seeming right to describe exactly where he'd been.

"It can wait." Voldemort said firmly. Not a sound was made but light flooded into the room moments later as a door was opened. The door closed and Harry sighed in the dark, letting his full weight fall into the bed. A soft, hissing croon made itself known then, lulling him to sleep and he gave in to it's comforting call.

xxx

When Harry awoke next, it was with a cry of surprise. It was morning now, and the elegant room he'd been staying in was filled with muted light from behind the large drapes. The room was as he remembered it, with the clothes the house-elves had been bringing him strewn over the otherwise neat room. His dark cloak lay draped on a chair as well, his moleskin pouch lying near it.

Everything was as he'd left it, except for two new occupants that had made themselves at home in his room. One was Nagini, who had made herself a bed on the foot of his own, half her body inside his covers. The other was a boy, light-haired and currently rubbing his eyes groggily, who had been sleeping on another ornate chair beside his bed. After his initial cry of surprise, Harry was staring opened mouth at the boy, not as worried about the snake.

Draco Malfoy rubbed his eyes to his heart's content and then stretched, yawning widely. He blinked a few times, looking at Harry and then a smirk started to form on his lips. Harry still stared at him disbelievingly. Coming to his senses, he hissed, "Are you out of your mind? What the hell are you doing here? If _he_ sees you, you'll be-"

"Honestly Potter," Malfoy said drowsily, "You really think I could've been sleeping in your room without the Dark Lord knowing?"

Harry closed his mouth abruptly, thoroughly confused. Malfoy gave an exasperated sigh and sneered, "He is the one who's sent me here. To _watch over_ you..."

Harry's mouth was on the verge of falling open again and he clenched it tightly instead, glaring at his old school enemy. He then said gruffly, "I don't need anyone to watch over me."

"The Dark Lord doesn't seem to think so," he replied smugly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Out of all the people he could tell, he told you?"

Malfoy scowled, "Of course he did, how else would I be here then. Especially with _it_ curled up on your bed like that..."

Harry looked closely and saw that Malfoy was speaking to his right shoulder, trying his hardest to not even have the snake in his peripherals.

Harry grinned, mouth stretching oddly as though it had forgotten how, and said, "She probably doesn't take kindly to that, you know..."

The snake in question gave a sleepy hiss and Malfoy visibly jumped. Harry gave a snort and leaned back, rolling his shoulders. He felt stronger now, not shivering or shaking anymore. He'd fallen asleep with his glasses on from before and was pleased to note his vision wasn't blurry anymore. His glasses had dug in painfully to one side of his head though, and he took them off, rubbing his temple.

He caught Malfoy watching him and said, "What?"

"Nothing," said Malfoy, scowling again. "I don't get this..."

Harry sighed and said, "Welcome to the party."

"I don't get why you're here..."

"Hasn't anyone told you? I'm working with the Dark side," Harry's mouth twisted slightly as he said this, the words sounding odd.

"No one else knows who you are, Potter," When Harry raised his eyebrows, Malfoy continued, "Not even my parents. The Dark Lord just summoned me saying he had a task for me. My parents don't even know whether I'm still in the manor."

Harry scoffed. "They don't need to. After you screwed up Dumbledore's death so royally, there's no chance you'll get to do much else, especially outside."

Malfoy sneered, "At least I'm not the one who has to be babysat. And all this about you working with him is rubbish. You're probably just a prisoner here..."

"A prisoner that's being guarded by a lowlife like you? Not bloody likely," Harry smirked back, secretly enjoying their banter. It was like old times again, a little bit of his old school life that he so desperately missed. Malfoy too seemed to be enjoying it, despite all his scowls and sneers.

"_She's_ there to guard you too, and that's better than any human guard..."

"So then what are you here for? To keep me company?"

Malfoy shrugged, not sneering anymore. "Probably... it's not like anyone of us gets what's behind the orders. We just carry them out."

Harry nodded slowly, letting his head fall back onto the headboard. Both boys were quiet for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Then, unable to take it any longer, Harry asked, "Planning to leave anytime soon? I need to take a shower."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and began sarcastically, "See Potter, the thing about bathrooms is that they contain this thing called a door. And when you close the door-"

Harry shut Malfoy up by throwing a cushion at him. Giving him a scowl, he slowly got out of bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping snake. At his movement though, Nagini got up so suddenly that Malfoy gave a yelp and even Harry leaned back. She stared at him with slitted eyes and Harry cleared his throat, hissing, "_Move aside, I need to bathe,'_ Nagini stared at him expressionlessly (she was a snake, after all) and moved onto the floor. Harry got up, t-shirt and jeans sticking to him uncomfortably. With the hobble of someone who'd spent days in bed with jeans, he picked up his wand and went to the elaborate bath.

As he opened the door, Nagini slipped in through first, leaving Malfoy and Harry staring after the large python in astonishment. Harry said disbelievingly, "What the hell?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "I guess the Dark Lord doesn't trust you enough to be in the shower on your own."

When Harry still stood there uncertainly, Malfoy said amusedly, "Why else would she go inside? I'm sure despite being a parselmouth, you're probably not her type... Or do you think the Dark Lord would enjoy a report of exactly what you do in the shower?"

Harry flushed at the last, not even slightly inclined to tell Malfoy that he wouldn't be surprised if his high and mighty 'Dark Lord' did want that exactly.

"Oh go on!" Malfoy said angrily now, "I'm starving. I need breakfast and I can't go down without you! It's not like the bath isn't spacious enough. Just hiss the snake into a corner or something!"

With a mutter of, "Fine!" Harry went into the bath, closing the door behind him as Malfoy muttered back, "Finally!"

His hurried shower was quick and his embarrassed request, Nagini sat facing the wall the entire time, still not having hissed back a word since her soft crooning to him the previous night. When he was out, dressed again in clean clothes and smelling of some expensive soap, Malfoy was positively parading up and down the room, clutching his stomach. As soon as Harry got out, Malfoy gave an impatient wave, hungry enough to not start talking and delay. Harry donned on his cloak, shrouding himself completely and the two boys left the room, snake following closely behind.

Harry entered the vast dining hall with some apprehension. His previous exchange with Voldemort had been quite odd and the one before that hadn't been much better. He wasn't looking forward to seeing the Dark Lord at all, the only things stopping him from barricading himself in his room being food, Malfoy and Dumbledore's appearance. He still wasn't too sure whether the appearance actually had any meaning or whether it was something his mind had just dreamed up. Although his weak and sleepy self had been quick to blurt to Voldemort about the vision, he now wasn't so sure whether it was such a good idea. It was highly plausible that the prophecy's true contents were just as bad as the fake. Would it really do him any favours to have Voldemort knowing it all along with him? His only counter-argument had been that even if he didn't tell Voldemort or made something up, the chances of him getting out of the manor to pursue a personal quest weren't too good. Malfoy's and Nagini's now constant shadows only proved it.

His anxiety was put to rest though, when he entered the hall and saw that the Dark Lord was nowhere in sight. The atmosphere in the room was almost relaxed, with a few Death Eaters speaking lazily amongst themselves and others engrossed in eating. The elder Malfoys had been the quietest of all though, speaking only when necessary and otherwise staring into space in tense silence. The relief was therefore, painfully obvious on their faces when Harry and Draco stepped into the room. Draco, the image of a prim and perfect pure-blood once again, only nodded at his parents before taking a seat with one open beside it for Harry. Harry, who'd frozen on the threshold looking for Voldemort, too relaxed and moved into the room, taking Malfoy's indicated seat. There were many mutterings at the sight of him and it took him a moment before he could recall why. He then remembered his torture of Bellatrix and despite himself, a small smirk crossed his face. He was, in the end, glad he'd gotten his revenge. There was nothing more to the torture than that, and Harry's little meeting with Dumbledore had assured him that somewhere deep down, he was still the same man who would never torture people just for the heck of it.

Harry begun to tackle the full plate in front of him with a small nostalgic sigh. Though the plate was full and filled with a perfect breakfast, warmed just right, it would still never compare to anything of Mrs. Weasley's. Malfoy gave him a side-along glance at the sigh and Harry shook his head slightly. Moments later, Malfoy dropped his fork with a clatter and stiffened, as the witches and wizards around them looked at him curiously. Each and everyone of them hastily went back to their plates as they caught sight of Nagini twisting up Harry's chair, hissing softly. Harry spared her a glance before going back to eating as well and the other Death Eaters gave him appraising looks. He supposed he was some sort of celebrity with them now too, cloaked and mysterious and brave enough to shut Bellatrix up.

As they ate, Nagini surveyed the room regally, looking at each Death Eater carefully. Harry's lips twitched at the thought of how much she looked like Voldemort then and he supposed she was perhaps more affected by the piece of his soul inside of her, what with her originally being a snake. His thoughts then wandered off to how much Voldemort's soul affected him and if that was the reason behind why he had fainted and then been unable to wake. Feeling a little nauseated at the thought of the dark nothingness and of what little he remembered of his state, he pushed his plate away and sat back.

Malfoy was still eating and Harry waited quietly, content to stare at the Death Eaters along with Nagini. At the moment, they all just looked like normal witches and wizards, sharing a quiet breakfast. Right now, he couldn't bring himself to worry about all the crimes they had committed and how much he detested them. It was, he felt sometimes, the same with Voldemort. Voldemort had pushed him too far the day of the meeting and Bellatrix's torture, which was why he had suddenly found himself overwhelmed and angry beyond reason. He supposed Voldemort too deserved his attempt at killing him, even though from the looks of it, it did Harry more harm than him. Harry wasn't too worried about being punished or any such thing concerning his loss of control. Knowing Voldemort, he had probably relished in it, the fact that Harry was unable to even complete the spell to kill him.

It was another thought that made him uneasy, the fact that he had tried to use the same spell that had killed his parents against someone else, even if it was their killer. Although he'd gone through many years thinking he would have to kill Voldemort in the end, he had never really imagined using Avada Kedavra to kill him, his daydreams always just stopping short of a final confrontation between the two. So many times had he imagined it... a final battle between Voldemort and him, where he would tell Voldemort what a wretched, horrid being he was and then somehow, kill him. The aftermath though, he had always found hard to picture. What would he have done then? Become an Auror and start a family? Marry Ginny, go for frequent meals at the Burrow... lead a normal life? Would he ever have been able to get over the passing of everyone who had ever been close to him, able to live like what was in the past was done and of no consequence any longer?

A sudden silence around the table caused him to come out of his brooding and look for the cause. It was Bellatrix, standing at the entrance in a haughty silence and looking at Harry murderously. The silence stretched onwards and Harry's hand found his wand underneath his cloak, clutching it tightly.

Bellatrix made a sudden movement but before Harry or anyone could respond, Nagini launched herself across the large table, baring her fangs and hissing madly. Dishes shattered and the table groaned with the weight of the large snake, as the other Death Eaters pushed away from the table hurriedly. Seeing the angry snake, Bellatrix too stepped back. Nagini stretched her body languidly, but he recognized it as position from which she would be able to attack easily. Harry stood up, speaking to the snake in a calm voice, _'Calm down... don't hurt anyone or her.'_

Nagini looked back at him, baring her fangs still and spitting in anger. _'Enough...'_ Harry hissed again and the snake closed her mouth with a hiss, staring at him.

"You...you can speak to her!" Bellatrix exclaimed with a gasp and Nagini turned back to her with a snap of her body, spitting again.

_'Enough Nagini... a scare was all that was needed...'_

Bodies turned immediately towards the entrance where Voldemort stood, eyes glittering dangerously. He walked into the room slowly, as elegant and lethal in his movements as his snake. Bellatrix had lowered her eyes and when Voldemort stood in front of her, she fell to her knees. Voldemort raised her chin with his wand, then lowered it, digging it into her neck painfully. She whimpered and started to plead as Harry moved slowly to where Voldemort was standing, without anyone's notice.

"You have disappointed me far too often these days, Bella... Tell me, what is stopping me from killing you?"

"Me," said Harry from behind the Dark Lord, hands clenching underneath his robes, out of sight.

_'Stand aside, I will deal with my Death Eaters as I wish. You have no say in this.'_

_'This is about me and I want to be the one settle it.'_

Voldemort scowled at him for a moment and with a mocking sweep of his hand, beckoned him forward as he stepped aside. Harry walked forward and taking a deep breath said, "Bellatrix. My actions the other day were based solely on revenge. If you had known my identity, you would have expected it." He saw Bellatrix look up at him suspiciously through his cloak and continued, "I have gotten my revenge and want nothing more to do with you. Challenge me to duel if that is the only thing that will settle this, but know that I already accept you as a far better duellist than I am or ever will be."

Bellatrix's eyes widened and the occupants of the room gasped collectively. Glancing at Voldemort, he saw that the Dark Lord was standing there with a sneer at Harry's attempt at a peaceful agreement. Bellatrix stayed on her knees, staring at him incredulously and Harry started to regret his words with a sinking feeling... _maybe he should have let Voldemort kill her..._

Then, to everyone's surprise, Bellatrix stood up gracefully and said, "I honour revenge and you have settled anything I might have done in return by stepping in for me. I call us even, but know this," she stepped closer to him, scowling, "ever dare cross my path again and I will prove exactly how good a duellist I am. I will not hesitate to destroy you."

Harry nodded solemnly, "Agreed."

Bellatrix bowed her head slightly to her master and made to move towards the door but as quick as the dart of a snake, Voldemort's wand jerked, sending her crashing down to the floor. Harry eyes widened in horror and the Death Eaters leaned away immediately at the fury in Voldemort's eyes. Bending down, he grabbed Bellatrix up by her hair, as she whimpered in protest.

"Just because you may have settled your debts does not mean that I am finished with you, Bellatrix!" Voldemort snarled furiously. Harry was alarmed by Voldemort's sudden vehemence. Never had he seen Voldemort look so crazed, despite having witnessed countless torture sessions both personally and as visions.

"P-please, my... lord. I meant n-no disrespect..." Bellatrix gasped as tears rolled down her face and Voldemort's fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her to kneeling position.

"I will teach you to never touch what is mine... Crucio!" Everyone was frozen in horror. Such was intensity of Voldemort's cruciatus that Bellatrix could not even scream in pain. Her face only twisted in terrible pain and within seconds, she was lying flat on floor, unconscious. Voldemort still did not lower his wand, making Bellatrix's lifeless body twitch and jerk as the curse continued. Harry snapped out of his stupor and did something that was very stupid but courageous at the same time. He walked forward and lay a hesitant hand on Voldemort's outstretched arm. Voldemort stiffened and turned sharply, crimson eyes insane. Harry turned his face away from the eyes, heart thudding, but his arm still grasped Voldemort's.

_'Stop,'_ he hissed softly and the parseltongue got through to Voldemort, who dropped his arm, staring at Harry's cloaked figure still with his insane eyes.

Harry did not have to look to sense every Death Eater present staring at them in disbelief and fear. He released his hold on Voldemort and stepped back, looking at the ground, shoulders hunched forward protectively though it looked no different with the cloak on. Voldemort glanced at Bellatrix's broken body and then turned to the remaining Death Eaters, who dropped to their knees in submission and lowered their eyes.

"Hear me well. Whoever dares to touch him or even promises to, will be given a fate much, much worse than that you all have just seen..." The Death Eaters nodded, sinking lower.

Voldemort looked at every bowed figure and when satisfied growled, "Now leave. And someone remove her from my sight."

The Death Eaters jumped to their feet and Narcissa charmed her sister's body to float out. Harry, knowing he was not in the ranks of those dismissed, stayed standing, as did Nagini. The door closed with a snap and Harry felt fear spread through him. His head lowered further, shoulders hunched together again.

Shards of glass that littered the floor tinkled as Voldemort moved them out of his way, taking slow steps to stand in front of Harry. With a jerk of his hand, Harry's hood fell off, revealing his eyes shut in expectance of a similar cruciatus.

"Finally," breathed Voldemort, "I sense fear in you once again... Do you fear me?"

He sounded as insane as he looked. Opening his eyes, Harry replied levelly, "I fear your insanity, not you."

"But Harry," Voldemort said in a low voice, thumb reaching up to trace Harry's other scar, the one that ran from mouth down to jaw, "my insanity _is_ me. It is my very power... let me show you."

Stepping back, Voldemort raised his wand. The hall began to shake. Portraits screamed as they came crashing down, their frames and glass breaking. Curtains ripped, letting morning light into the dark room and the windows shattered one after the other, leaving the hall open to the elements. Outside, sudden clouds gathered, and rain began to pour down in the ernest, uninvited. A gusting wind entered the hall, swirling the Malfoys' priceless possessions all over, destroying them.

Through it all, Harry stood silently, eyes never leaving Voldemort's as the world seemingly came crashing down around them. Then with a wave, everything stilled. The rain became a drizzle, the wind stopping. Objects that had been flying in midair came crashing to the ground with a finality and Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. The hall was wrecked as though a tornado had come through, miraculously leaving only the two wizards standing.

Voldemort came forward once more, a hand gripping Harry's jaw and tilting it upward. His nails dug into Harry's cheeks. The hold was possessive and Voldemort asked the same question again, perhaps believing his show of power would have been enough to scare him.

"Do you fear me now?"

Undeterred, Harry replied again, "Not you, only your insanity." Voldemort held him for another moment and then slowly let go, stepping back. His face had calmed, eyes as normal as they could be. Turning around, he witnessed the destruction he had caused and said quietly, "Put it back together the way it was... I would like to see the power of that wand in the hands of it's true owner."

The command wasn't at all what he had expected but Harry obeyed anyway, pulling out the Elder Wand and holding it uncertainly in his hand. The destruction was massive and he did not know whether a simple reparo would suffice. Not knowing anything else, he decided to give it a try, putting more faith into the wand than the spell. Raising it, he said, "Reparo..."

And it worked magnificently. Objects healed and placed themselves back to their old positions. Paintings and portraits righted themselves and each window was put back together with glass shards zooming together at once and fitting together like a giant jigsaw puzzle. Cloth mended itself, stains removed themselves and the remnants of breakfast cleared away, leaving whole dishes and glasses behind. It reminded Harry of the time he had seen Dumbledore and Slughorn put a muggle room back together in his sixth year and he wondered if reparo was the same spell they had used. Secretly pleased that he was able to accomplish something similar, albeit only because of a stronger wand, Harry felt content for the first time in very long. He had forgotten what it had been like performing magic that wasn't defensive or used only to fight. He realized then that he missed it sorely.

As the last of the wreckage cleared, Harry surveyed the room, disappointed only to note that he had been unable to correct the weather outside. Harry decided he didn't mind it too much though, as the soft rain against the windows was comforting. He saw Voldemort too was looking out the window and said softly, "I'm not sure what spell to use to right the weather..."

Still looking outside, Voldemort said, "Powerful magic always induces rain. Although the gale and initial downpour were conjured by me, the rain now is natural, just a reaction to our magic..."

Harry nodded, looking outside as well. He had forgotten how learned Voldemort was, that inside the Dark Lord was a practised and proficient wizard. It was easy to forget the little of Tom Riddle that was inside Voldemort still, the young man who had only been an orphan and keen on magic. Sure, his temperament had leaned towards cruelty from the beginning but Harry still believed that it was circumstances that had made him so. It was why he said that he did not fear Voldemort, only the insanity he had fallen into. The acknowledgement was something new, the fruit of a memory he had seen twice now. Although his ordeal of the past few days still made him shudder, it had brought forth more than a few revelations as well. After the vision of Dumbledore had finished, he'd had the chance to contemplate many things with his whispering conscious by his side. One was the memory of a young Tom Riddle, whose anguished face as he killed his own father had haunted Harry endlessly. He had come to realize that Riddle's father had probably been his first kill, along with his grandparents. And also that once upon a time, Voldemort too had felt pain and loss... which had eventually led to him becoming what he was today.

Harry still felt just as much hatred for the man who had killed so many and ruined his life. He knew the grudge was something that wouldn't pass easily, if ever. The only thing was that he understood Voldemort a bit better now and was able to come to terms with the fact that Voldemort was a forever in his life, as long as he lived. He had banished all thoughts of ever going back to a normal life, or even his old life. He would stay beside Voldemort and try his best to dissuade his deep-set cruelty. He would protect his friends as best he could, repaying them for all they had ever done for him.

He suddenly found his throat constricted, his eternal bond to Voldemort seeming no less painful despite it's nobility. Harry swallowed to regain control of himself and found Voldemort looking at him again.

"I suppose it is time you tell me exactly what you witnessed while unconscious," Voldemort said quietly, not commenting further on Harry's spell-casting.

Harry nodded and began. Some parts were unclear and he hesitated quite a bit, trying to recall everything. Dumbledore's vision, he was pleased to note, he remembered perfectly and was able to recite completely. He kept out most of his ordered thoughts, especially the one concerning Tom Riddle and the one that had come before Harry had met Dumbledore. The result of this was a bemused Voldemort, who did not understand why Dumbledore had commended him on his reasoning abilities.

When Voldemort asked, Harry did not reply immediately, feeling a flush creeping about his neck and ears. Although what he had reasoned was normal and true, it still left him feeling a little embarrassed. Hesitantly, he tried to explain, "Well like I said, I was floating around in this... expanse of nothing before Hogwarts and Dumbledore came into being. I'm not even sure if I had some form at that point actually... I just felt... disconnected. It was alright though and I remember feeling better than I had in years, able to forget about... everything. It didn't seem as scary back then as it does now... Just as I was wishing I could stay like that forever, a voice whispered to me that I should just... die, because there isn't really anyone who would be affected by it, anyway..." Harry paused embarrassedly but Voldemort urged him forward with a nod.

Flush prominent now, Harry averted his face and continued, "I started thinking about how everyone had been taken away from my life at one point or another... But there was someone, who'd been a part of it forever... even if he was responsible for the absence of most of the others" Harry paused again, eyes coming to Voldemort's and with a deep breath said, "It was... you, of course. Even if you were an enemy and always a threat, in a way... you were the only thing I could ever expect. That no matter what happened-"

"I would always try to kill you," Voldemort finished, eyes widened. "It is," Voldemort continued, turning away from him, "similar to something I came to terms with as well. Your life, or death I suppose, was far more important to me than anything else since the moment I heard that prophecy. It explains our... sudden agitation. We seem to have lost ourselves..." he said the last softly and Harry was caught in wonder at the accuracy of Voldemort words as to what they were both going through. He had never, in a million years, expected Voldemort to understand.

"Was it... real then? What I felt and saw?" Harry had been waiting to pose this question for a long time.

"There is a high chance it was. Even if the words were your own imagination, it is very likely that they were dreamed by you for a specific reason. Your sub-conscious could very well be trying to tell you something or it could even be the result of a spell, planted by Dumbledore before-hand."

"So then, it is possible that Dumbledore did leave behind some way for us to figure out the true prophecy?"

Voldemort nodded, scowling, "It is no doubt his way to lead us on... Having control over the actions of others... even in death."

"Doesn't sound much different than something you would do," said Harry coldly. He felt angry at both of them, Voldemort and Dumbledore. He always seemed to following paths already craved out for him by either of the two powerful wizards.

Voldemort smirked in agreement but lapsed into silence once more. Impatient, Harry asked, "Will we go to Hogwarts then? To his grave?"

Voldemort nodded but did not elaborate. Harry prompted again, "When?"

"It is something that will have to be planned. We cannot step into Hogwarts at the slightest whim any longer..."

"What?" asked Harry, surprised, "I thought the school was under your control!"

Voldemort pursed his lips, anger evident in his face. "It is not any longer. The ministry was successful with it's seige..."

"Seige?" Harry was thoroughly shocked now, not understanding how this could have happened so quickly. When he asked, Voldemort replied in clipped sentences, "You were unconscious for little over a week. It was very much possible that you have stayed in a lifeless state forever. During this time, the ministry attacked Hogwarts. It was a surprise attack, one that I hadn't forseen due to recent... distractions. As a result, the ministry had staked claim over the school, calling it a new establishment for the better training of able bodied witches and wizards to fight our forces."

Harry was stunned. A training site? It sounded more or less like a muggle military camp. "The Order... is it siding with them?"

Voldemort shook his head once, "The Order is fighting a battle of it's own. There are apparently many within the Order that are siding with the ministry, although they claim to oppose them outwardly."

"Why, though? If the ministry is finally fighting your forces then why does the Order oppose them?"

"Their methods, of course. The ministry has become ruthless, as keen on using dark magic as it is light. They are ready to whatever it takes, which makes them immeasurably powerful for us and opposed the ever important morals of the Order..."

"That's terrible!" Harry said indignantly, "they're training innocent people to become savages just to overthrow the dark! Even if they ever succeed, the result wouldn't be peace either way..."

"I do not care the slightest about how savage Britain's witches and wizards become," Voldemort growled dangerously, "what matters is that the ministry is powerful and very much harder to penetrate..."

Harry let out a huff, knowing Voldemort truly did not care the slightest. This new direction was obviously the most stupid the ministry had ever taken and Harry suddenly found himself wishing that Voldemort's forces _would_ be enough to fight it. Fighting Voldemort's forces and ideals, which were completely dark, verses fighting the ministry which employed innocent people, would be much easier for the Order. He could already foresee the havoc this would have created in the Order and when Harry's new role came out... there was a high chance that the Order would fall apart.

"Either way," said Harry, pushing aside thoughts of the war, "we'll have to get into Hogwarts, somehow..."

Voldemort nodded, "There is a possible way. An attack could be staged, with Death Eater's attacking the front of Hogwarts while we enter through the back..."

"That's impractical," Harry said dismissively and Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "It would be far easier to just break in quietly, take what we must and leave."

"What? Break in like petty thieves and leave quietly," Voldemort sneered.

"Exactly," said Harry firmly, "There is no reason for an elaborate attack, especially when you don't have the forces."

Voldemort looked angry at being assumed weak and Harry tried placate him. "There are only two people who need to get in, you and me. We don't even need to enter the castle, only the grounds. They won't ever expect a break-in and chances are, the security is lax because again, _they are not expecting anyone._"

Voldemort was silent, contemplating. They both knew the true reason behind why Harry was trying to dissuade him from a full fledged attack. His sympathies were obviously not with the weakened forces of the Death Eaters but instead with the innocent people inside Hogwarts at the time. He knew the point he raised was however, more than valid. He only hoped Voldemort would be able to put his arrogance aside for once and consider it.

After sometime, Voldemort gave a terse nod. "I will think upon it. You are still weak and in no condition to leave this manor. Stay with the youngest of Malfoys and keep yourself busy while a suitable date and time is devised."

Harry nodded the asked, "Why did you tell him? Malfoy, I mean. I thought no one was to know beforehand..."

"I cannot be spared to keep an eye on you and neither can be any other Death Eaters. He is able enough to guard you alongside Nagini. Do not try and disobey. I will not be as lenient as I was today."

Harry was sorely tempted to point out that he hadn't actually done anything wrong and that he would disobey as much as he bloody well wanted. Deciding not to push the unstable wizard any further though, he held his tongue.

Another question that bothered him came up though and Harry decided to ask that while he had the chance. "Why was I unable to complete the spell the other day? To kill you?"

Voldemort sighed and said, "I do not know. As you cast it, I gained access into your mind for a fleeting moment, much like one does when someone is dying. I thought the worst..." Voldemort quietened and Harry found himself holding his breath, despite reminding himself constantly, _it's only because you're his horcrux..._

"I would guess that it has something to do with the prophecy. Other than that, I cannot say anything else." The response was quick, too quick and Harry's eyes narrowed. The Dark Lord was hiding something.

"Leave now," said Voldemort quietly, "I must meet with my Death Eaters and fend off harebrained enquiries about your particular actions today..."

Harry's head jerked up with a snap. "It's not my fault... Nagini was going to kill her and it was something I'd rather not stomach. You weren't much better either, torturing an unconscious person..."

Voldemort looked over at Nagini, who was coiled on a chair quietly, her presence unnoticed. "She did it of her own accord. I did not ask it of her..."

Harry looked at snake in slight appreciation. "Maybe she can sense it, too. That I'm your horcrux..."

"Maybe..." agreed Voldemort half-heartedly and Harry wondered again what he was hiding.

The stood silent for a moment and then Harry pulled over his hood again, nodding to Voldemort. Voldemort inclined his head and Harry left, soundlessly being followed by the snake once more. As he walked out of the now pristine hall, Harry looked back at Voldemort, who staring out the window again and realized that for the first time, he'd had left Voldemort's presence without a fight or a dramatic exit. Smiling softly at the absurdity of the thought, Harry disappeared into the shadows of the manor, not feeling the crimson eyes that had turned to stare at him longingly once again.

xxx

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><p>AN: Hope you liked it. It was horribly hard to write this chapter and I'm completely drained out now... Hope you like it anyway, forgive the small mistakes, its late at night and am tired.

Not gonna say much except that a) you got some beginnings of slash and that the story is moving forward, with the prophecy and what not. b) I have no clue if reparo can actually put things back together _in their proper_ place but I didn't know what else to use. That whole part is supposed to be metaphor anyway and imaginary props to you if you get it.

Next, Conversations and Retribution is receiving so much love :) I'm apparently whimsical, because that was definitely not planned. Its LV/HP, give it a try if it appeals to you, I'll update it before midterms which are in two-ish weeks.

This story will not be updated before them, but I'll make a long-ass chapter as compensate. I can't do fast updates because they seriously degrade my writing. For example, ch1 = alright, ch2 = crap, ch3 = good, ch4 = crap (even though I took long, it was re-written 5 times and the last draft was written in two days), ch5 = ? (hint: review)

Anyhow, Thanks for reading.

P.S. Just cuz it was a cliffy, I can't believe you guys left me hanging in the 90s... jkn, reviews are not obligatory ;) much love


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I'm only a fan writing for pure entertainment and do not mean to gain any sort of profit from this.

Warnings: SLASH LV/HP

A/N: Long A/N at bottom short, I need a beta. If interested, please message. (I know this may not be right place to advertise but meh) I'm looking for someone who can do both this and Conversations and Retribution.

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

"How is she?"

Startled blue eyes turned to look at him where he stood at the door, leaning against the frame. Narcissa Malfoy relaxed imperceptibly as she recognized his cloaked figure and murmured softly, "No better."

Harry gave a short hum in response, stepping into the room to stand beside the rich, mahogany bed. The sheets covering it were the purest of whites and the still woman who sat on the bed was also dressed in sleeping robes of the same colour. Her mass of dark hair and emaciated face contrasted sharply with the lightness of the rest of the room.

Narcissa, elegant in her robes of green and sitting on a chair beside the bed, got up at his approach. "Stay as long as you would like. I have some other business I must attend to."

Harry nodded at her through his hood and turned his attention back to the woman on the bed. She was looking out of the window silently, her eyes dead and lost.

It had almost been three weeks since the day Voldemort had put such force behind his cruciatus that Bellatrix Lestrange had fainted under it's spell. When she had awoken a day later, nothing remained the same. Gone was the mad, cackling woman with the permanent glint of cruelty in her eye. All that was left was a shell, unspeaking and unseeing.

The healer that had been called had attributed her severe reaction to the curse as a consequence of already having a slightly... loosetemperament, owing to her years of service to Voldemort's twisted ideals and the time she spent in Azkaban. Although it was hard to imagine a Bellatrix without that madness, it was something that had apparently been eating her on the inside and pushing her closer towards the day when she would completely and utterly break. Thanks to Voldemort's unrestrained curse, the day had come early.

Harry bit the inside of his lip, looking out the window Bellatrix had her eyes glued to. It was a painfully sunny day and the grounds surrounding the manor were a vibrant green, the prim garden thriving under the attention of the sunlight. It made for a positively picturesque image and Harry found himself frowning at it. It bothered him that such a happy looking landscape could surround the bleak manor where countless deaths and tortures had taken place. Many of which, he had to admit, were the work of the woman now sitting helpless in front of him.

Harry didn't know why he had taken to visiting Bellatrix from time to time after he had learned of her condition. It bothered him too, as to why he insisted on coming back and checking the welfare of a woman that had lost him not only his godfather but ruined the lives of many other people as well. A possible reason may have been to gloat, but anyone that knew him would attest to the fact that Harry Potter was not someone that took pleasure from something like that.

"You deserve this, you know," Harry murmured quietly, knowing the woman could not hear him – or at least, comprehend whatever her still functioning ears picked up.

Despite their bluntness, he knew his words to be true. She did deserve this, to fall so from her former power that she was now in the same state that two of her most famous victims had been. He was of course, thinking about Frank and Alice Longbottom.

It was by a cruel – or just – twist of fate that Bellatrix Lestrange was now in the same, horrifying condition that he had seen Neville's parents in. Still, his parents had Neville and his grandmother to visit them and care for them. Bellatrix on the other hand...

How long would Voldemort allow the useless shell of a Death Eater to linger about his latest haunt? What use did he have for such a person? Harry knew Voldemort had not only tolerated but even appreciated Bellatrix's viciousness as one of his most prized servants. With this recent change however, Harry would not put it past the vile man to throw Bellatrix out or even kill her as soon he turned his eyes to the fact that it was unlikely she would ever heal.

Bellatrix fidgeted, slowly drawing up her knees to rest her chin on them. Harry's eyes took in the vulnerable position, fascinated and troubled at the same time.

Harry had come to know enough of Narcissa Malfoy to know that she still did harbour some form of affection or duty towards her sister. Whether she would go against a Dark Lord that had almost complete control over her husband and son though, was a question answered only too easily. He knew the Malfoys were a tight-knit family and it left him in no doubt that if Narcissa felt even the slightest of dangers approaching her beloved husband and son, she do everything in her power to evade it – even if it meant letting her own sister die.

Mouth twisted in a grimace, Harry tugged at the collar of cloak. Why _he_ was so concerned about all this was still beyond him. Hadn't he wanted to curse Bellatrix to death after what she had done? Wouldn't he have felt some satisfaction had someone been able to kill Bellatrix during the war? The answer was yes, yes he would have. Except the only difference now was that the Bellatrix that would have died then would still have been the woman that had relished in carrying out the cruel deeds she did and not the one that was currently sitting in front of him, like a helpless child.

Harry released a sigh, sitting down at the edge of the bed. A stray curl had fallen to the front of Bellatrix's face, in line with her nose. She had gone cross-eyed staring at it, but had made no move yet to push it out of the way.

Hesitantly, Harry reached out a hand to flip back the offending curl, careful not to touch her skin in the process. He flinched as her eyes flashed to him the instant he moved it, but relaxed when he saw that they were still dim and unaware.

He stared at her for another moment and she at him, though she could not have discerned his face beneath his hood anyway. Then, knowing it unwise and unfruitful to linger, he got up to leave.

Just as he moved away, a sudden tug at the sleeve of his cloak made him hastily twist around, eyes widened to see Bellatrix looking up at him with her bony hand clutching the cloth tightly.

Harry cleared his throat and feeling foolishly nervous asked, "Yes?"

To his utter bewilderment, the woman smiled widely, baring her yellowing teeth. Then releasing the sleeve slowly, she croaked while smiling eerily, "Harry Potter..."

Harry's mouth fell open in horror and he looked around the room, as though expecting to see throng of death eaters assembled around him, wands out. Seeing no one, he composed himself and leaning close to Bellatrix, breathed, "What did you say?"

"Potter," Bellatrix repeated simply, her voice clearer.

"How do you know it's me beneath the hood?" Harry asked softly, looking carefully at the eyes that were starting to look more aware by the second.

"I knew it was you the moment my lord defended you, Potter..." Bellatrix murmured, softer now.

Mouth dry, Harry repeated, "Defended me?"

"You are the only one that can make him act... like that..." Bellatrix's voice was growing quieter, receding to a mumble but her eyes remained bright.

"And why is that?"

A look of confusion stole over Bellatrix's face and she mumbled, "I don't know..."

Harry leaned back, processing her words. "Maybe I should call for a healer..." he said, more to himself than the woman.

"NO!" The reaction was instantaneous and Harry jumped back, shocked. A wild insanity had appeared back in Bellatrix's eyes as she stared at him angrily, bony hands coming up to clutch at his cloak again.

"No..." she breathed harshly. "No healer. Just let me be..."

Harry didn't struggle and after a moment the hands relaxed, the rich cloth of his cloak slipping through them like sand. The intelligence in the dark eyes receded as they became dim again, the chin that had been raised proud again coming to rest once again on her knees. And again, Bellatrix Lestrange was no more than an empty shell.

Harry's quickened heart returned to normal as he pushed himself off the bed, the cogs in his mind in motion.

So it seemed Bellatrix Lestrange did retain some of her former self, even if she was able to embody it only from time to time. It was no surprise, as it was common in cases like these. What bothered Harry was her insistence that no healer be called. Had the cruel woman truly lost herself so much that she wanted to remain in such an apathetic state... or was it a ploy of some sort?

Harry shook his head, a crease lining his hidden forehead. No, he did not believe it was a ploy. Perhaps it was pride that made the woman unable to seek out help or maybe even just a wish to spend her numbered days adrift in a void rather than amidst the harsh reality. Whatever it was, Harry did not think that Bellatrix was a threat to him, even if she had somehow figured out that it was he who was Voldemort's new cloaked companion.

With a small sigh, Harry got up, pulling the disguising cloak tighter about himself. He stepped out the door, so intent on his thoughts that he did not notice the man that flattened himself to the opposite wall as he left, narrowed eyes following his retreating back.

xxx

The manor was silent during this time of day, although the past few days had it just as quiet during other times as well. Harry walked up the stairs slowly, legs carrying him up to his room automatically while he was lost in his thoughts.

There wasn't really anything more to what Bellatrix had just said in her small period of alertness. It was admirable that she had been able to recognize him just before Voldemort had so vehemently cursed for touching what was 'his'but it did not surprise him that she was so perceptive of her lord. Even Harry, who could say that he knew the most about Voldemort's past and therefore had an adequate understanding of the man's behaviour, knew how exceptional it was for Voldemort to be so possessive of someone to this degree.

Harry had long since come to know that the Dark Lord's possessiveness was bordering on an obsession and found himself at odds as to what to think of it. It was certainly dangerous but useful as well. Voldemort regarded Harry as his weapon, something he planned to use against the Ministry and to bring about the downfall of the Order. Harry on the other hand saw this as an opportunity, to sway and dissuade the greatest Dark Lord of these times into sparing his friends and people in general... and then, if that thrice accursed prophecy said to, he would try his best to somehow kill of the man... and himself, if it was needed.

It was a desolate way of looking at things but it was the best he had. It could hardly be called a plan, and it bothered him greatly that his role in the war had been reduced to nothing more than just 'lying low'.

What fed his frustrations further was the fact that it had been three weeks since Harry had told Voldemort about his vision of Dumbledore and the man had done absolutely nothing about it. Harry hadn't expected Voldemort to act upon his every whim but the thing was, the Dark Lord didn't seem to be acting upon anything at all.

In the course of the past weeks, Harry had seen Lord Voldemort a total of three times. Twice in passing and only once had he been summoned, after which Harry hadn't seen him at all.

Their last meeting had been informative yet for Harry, still at a standstill. It had taken place a fortnight ago, with Harry receiving a summons in the form of Nagini's sleepy hiss...

"_Sit."_

_The room was a study of sorts, with filled bookshelves of oak covering the walls and a desk and chair pushed carelessly to the side. Devoid of all other furniture apart from a wing-back chair Harry knew Voldemort favoured, it was evident that the study was not being used for it's intended purpose but instead just as a place for Voldemort to do nothing but think._

_As Harry sat down on the stool that had been conjured beside the empty grate of the fireplace, Voldemort, sitting in his customary chair and stroking Nagini, observed him. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet."_

_Harry removed the hood of his cloak, tugging slightly on the knot to beneath his neck to loosen it. "I didn't see any reason to call unnecessary attention to myself. I find that staying out of your notice is usually beneficial to my health."_

"_Your tongue has sharpened..." Voldemort noted with a smirk. "Perhaps by the influence of staying alongside the Slytherins of this manor?"_

"_Maybe it always was and you just didn't notice. We've never really spoken all that much," Harry said, shrugging. "And actually, I find that it's you who's been quiet these days..."_

"_Oh?"_

_Harry frowned. "There's been no word of any attacks nor raids against the Ministry or even the Order. I don't get what you're planning."_

"_Perhaps you simply aren't meant to. But yes, quiet I have been..." Voldemort conceded thoughtfully in the end, eyes unwavering from Harry's face._

_Used to the penetrating gaze by now, Harry sat silent, waiting for an explanation._

"_The Ministry," Voldemort said after a moment, "has begun to exceed it's previous role as a mere nuisance into something that is starting to demand far more of my time than I had imagined."_

"_And why is that?" Harry asked._

"_I would assume your knowledge is limited to whatever little you can get out of the Daily Prophet but simply reading the papers is not enough," Voldemort said briskly. "You must learn to look between the falsifying words to gain the true meaning of what the Ministry is planning."_

"_Well since my reading skills aren't up to par, do enlighten me as to what your wise eyes have gleaned from the stupid papers?"_

_Voldemort pursed his lips but there was a glint of amusement in his eye. He continued, "Tighter bonds with the wizarding world? Destroying any and every affiliation with the Dark? The Ministry is in want of a preciously close watch on it's subjects and it's doing so by interfering in the lives of every single witch and wizard of England."_

"_So no different from when your ministry was holding trials for muggle-borns," Harry said seemingly dismissively but with a hard edge to his voice. Umbridge's wide toad-like face filled with glee as she accused people of stealing magic swam in front of his eyes, a cold anger washing through him._

"_Blood-status is of no consequence to the Ministry," Voldemort said, not commenting on Harry's scowl. "Though I must admit that their choice of their latest targets is quite ironic."_

"_Ironic? What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused._

"_Pure-bloods," Voldemort replied. "But more specifically, those that are tied to Slytherin." _

"_So then the Ministry is interrogating old pure-blood families to see if any of them are your followers? Oddly enough, I don't find myself disapproving of it."_

"_Oh don't you?" Voldemort's crimson eyes flashed dangerously and Harry stiffened. "So I suppose you approve that any man or woman that was ever sorted into Slytherin house is under grave scrutiny from the Ministry? That even people that haven't joined me face persecution because they have practiced magic a shade darker than usual?"_

"_Persecution? But that's impractical!" Harry said. "They can't expect to throw people into Azkaban just for being a Slytherin. There's a ton of them anyway."_

"_Not Azkaban," Voldemort sneered. "The Ministry knows full well that the Dementors are remain under my control. And as you have pointed out, imprisoning wizards of those numbers and for such reasons is indeed impractical. Their mean of control is much, much worse in reality..."_

_Harry waited with an expectant look on his face and Voldemort's face darkened. "I assume you know what an Unbreakable Vow is?"_

_Harry's eyes widened and Voldemort took that as answer enough. "Whole families, including children are being forced to Vow to the Ministry, to support their cause no matter what. From what I know, a total of three families have been sworn already."_

"_They can't... that's not possible! It's not something the Ministry would do, it's something-" Harry cut off hastily. He had been about to say 'something you would do' but had stopped himself in time. Still, Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he said shrewdly, "Something that I would do?"_

_Harry let out a sigh then scoffed, "Yeah, obviously. It's like you to want to control people. It's not something I wouldn't put past you."_

_With a relaxing of Voldemort's hands, Nagini slipped off of him and the man stood up to walk to the window. The full moon illuminated his snake-like features, making his pale skin glisten._

"_You are correct," Voldemort said finally. "It is truly something that would be expected of me rather than of any _light_ wizard. Then why," he asked, turning back to Harry, "have I not utilized such a power?"_

_Harry stood silent for a moment, thinking hard. Then he said, "You've used the Imperious curse, which is similar. But I know why you've never stooped so low as to use something like an Unbreakable Vow."_

"_Go on."_

_Harry looked up at Voldemort, his own eyes boring into the crimson. "It's not because you're any more honourable. I don't think it's because doing something like that is beneath you. No, you're far more twisted than that..."_

_A curious gleam entered Voldemort's eyes and he inclined his head, not challenging Harry's words._

"_You've never used that sort of force because you haven't needed to. When you were Tom Riddle, people flocked to you of their own accord, ready to bend at your every whim. When you became Voldemort... they feared you enough to never go against your word."_

_Voldemort's lips had parted slightly by the time Harry finished and his eyes were a shade darker. Harry tensed as Voldemort came closer to where he sat and rose a hand to run over his scarred jaw._

"_You are absolutely right. It pains me to admit it but perhaps you may have a greater understanding of my actions than I thought."_

_Harry gave a small smirk but immediately turned his head away, so that Voldemort's tapering fingers stopped inches from his face. Voldemort's eyes narrowed at the action but he made no move to touch him again._

"_What I don't understand," Harry said, "is how they've been able to keep it all quiet. They can't all just approve of something like this... And anyhow, don't you need complete consent while making the vows?"_

"_Yes, consent is necessary but the threat of persecution or even just removal from their seat of power would be enough to make any pure-blood family succumb to taking the Vow." Voldemort said, reassuming his seat. "As for gaining the approval of others, I am led to believe that the matter is kept between a small group of people for the time being."_

"_Oh. So I suppose you have some spy stationed inside?"_

"_Naturally," Voldemort replied a bit haughtily, as though Harry should not even have to ask. Harry shook his head then said, "Do you um, know if the Order knows about what's going on?"_

"_I do not concern myself with what happens in an organization that I believe to be finished."_

"_It's not finished!" Harry blurted angrily. Then calming himself he asked, "Fine, but do you at least know what they're planning next? The Ministry, that is. If it's only old dark families that are being persecuted right now, what do they plan with the rest of them?"_

"_Not something as drastic as Unbreakable Vows, I think," Voldemort said slowly, watching Harry closely after his outburst. "But I can only think that want something similar... for the usual motives. The Ministry as a whole has become power-hungry enough to want complete and utter control over the masses. I do not think the people specifically behind this will meet much opposition from the rest of the Ministry when they reveal their plans."_

"_I see," Harry said, his mind racing. He stared into the fire, absently stroking Nagini who had inconspicuously coiled up on his knees after Voldemort had released her._

"_Why do you care?" Voldemort asked suddenly and Harry looked up, surprised._

"_Care about what?"_

"_About what's happening in the Ministry, you foolish boy. I'm sure you're not scared for the well-being of my Death Eaters or even my own war against them. Then why?"_

_Harry paused, considering the question. Voldemort was right. Harry's war was against Voldemort, was it not? He was or had been, the Chosen-One, destined to defeat the Dark Lord... not some kind of superhero, always needing to jump to the rescue no matter what. Then why indeed..._

"_Because there's people I care about that can get hurt if the Ministry has its way. The Order may just be an organization for you but for me it's the closest I have to a family. Not to mention the thought of countless other people having to live under such a rule doesn't sit right with me either."_

"_You are an honourable fool," Voldemort replied, scowling._

_Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "At least I'm honourable."_

"_But what makes you think I would allow you to play a role in stopping the Ministry? Do not forget-"_

"_-that I'm your bloody horcrux? and that being thus I'm more or less your prisoner-cum-slave? Yeah, I've heard that tirade more times than I've needed to, thanks."_

_Voldemort looked shocked (as much as was possible for the usually impassive man) and Harry leaned forward in his seat, taking advantage of it. "If what you're saying is true, then realize that I want the Ministry's downfall now as much as you do._ _You know you can use me to muddy the Ministry's image in the eyes of the people and for once, I won't object. You need me... and I'm more than happy to oblige."_

_Voldemort recovered immediately and said with a sneer, "My... your words make it seem as though you're almost accepting of being my... what was it? Yes, prisoner-cum-slave."_

"_Well, I'm not the only one being agreeable today. I would never have expected to get that much information out of you," Harry said, voicing something that had been bothering him since the beginning of their conversation._

"_And your expectations were correct. You have been given this information because I wanted it so, not because you were able to _get_ anything out of me," Voldemort said arrogantly and Harry had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Though I must admit that I've also willingly told you all of this to gauge your reaction better."_

"_And why does my reaction matter?"_

_Voldemort looked at Harry thoughtfully before answering, "You have always been kept in the dark about things, have you not? Dumbledore never really did see it fit to reveal things to you as he himself learned them. I merely found myself curious of what you make when given information beforehand."_

_Harry's eyes narrowed. "I know what you're trying to do and it won't work. Just because you've told me what's going on does not make you any more favourable in my eyes than before."_

"_I would have been surprised if it did," said Voldemort simply. "But for now, enough. My true reason for calling you here was something else..."_

The large grandfather clock in the foyer struck three as Harry continued his trudge up the large staircase of Malfoy Manor. There had been no more talk of the Ministry's plans or even any other future plans during the rest of his time in Voldemort's presence. Why the Dark Lord had actually called him had come as a bit of a surprise to him actually.

Prior to that meeting a fortnight ago, during days where Voldemort had left him alone and had not called any more of his tiresome meetings, Harry had usually spent his time either raiding the Malfoys' impressive library or bickering with Malfoy. However it had soon become evident that there was only so much he could read – he was not Hermione – and that there was only so much he could bother Malfoy especially when, he was a bit loathe to admit, that they starting to get along. At these times, when his two forms of entertainment failed him, Harry would have no choice but to give in to his more depressing, melancholic thoughts.

Harry Potter was not someone who was used to doing _nothing_. His years at Hogwarts had hardly allowed him rest, so much so that at the time he would have found the current dilemma of having nothing to do oddly inviting. His time at the Dursleys was the closest he had ever felt to how he was feeling now but still, even his stays with his uncle and aunt hadn't instilled in him the pure, fearful feeling of hopelessness.

So he was surprised when Voldemort, either picking up on how he was feeling himself (which was unlikely) or having been told by his far more receptive familiar, had decided that Harry should continue to expand his abilities as a duellist and in other arts of war.

When Harry had asked him why, Voldemort had merely alluded that Harry's role in the war would no longer be confined to that of a self-sacrificing martyr. Though the comment had initially caused Harry to leave the study in a huff and self-righteous anger, the truth behind the words was something he could not ignore.

The war that had rekindled when Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron three years ago had only gotten grimmer, especially with the new, far more active role that the Ministry was playing. The wizarding world was being pushed further into turmoil and there seemed to be no easy or clear way out. Even the sides of the war, usually so well defined, were getting muddled and confused. Light wizards were oppressing the masses and dark wizards were enlisting the help of the Boy-Who-Lived to bring down the Ministry...

Harry had long since accepted that his role in the war would never be something trivial. Thinking back, he felt that perhaps it would have been the easiest if he had actually been able to sacrifice himself during the battle and gotten rid of a piece of Voldemort's soul for good. But given the current circumstances, dwelling on what could have been was worthless... and it was perhaps with that in mind that Harry had actually started taking advantage of the fact that for once in his life, he would be taught how to fight and defend himself.

And of course, there was also something immensely satisfying about being able to hoist up Draco Malfoy by his ankle and leave him flailing in midair, screaming useless oaths until he remembered the counter-curse to Severus Snape's memorable spells.

It was with a smile at that memory that Harry pushed open to the room he shared with his school-enemy. He took off his cloak the moment he was inside and mopped his brow. The early July weather was turning hotter by the minute and going around beneath the cloak made Harry breathless and sweaty.

Draco was lounging on the couch, pouring over some volume on healing. It was their latest endeavour, something they were learning with the help of none other than Draco's mother. Thankfully, their last lesson had taken place the previous evening and Harry was glad he wouldn't have to spend an hour beneath the cloak today while Narcissa went on into painful details about the finer points of healing.

"Where were you?" asked Malfoy from behind his book, sounding irate as usual.

Harry shrugged at the question, depositing his cloak on the dresser and flopping down on the bed.

"You really shouldn't slip past me like that... I'm supposed to watch you."

Harry rolled his eyes at Malfoy's mother-hen tone and said, "You should keep a better watch then. Your stealth skills are lacking, young lord Malfoy."

It was Harry's new name for him and one that annoyed the other to no end. Turns out that Malfoys were actually so pompous that the house-elves around the manor were to address them as Lord or Lady Malfoy. Harry had nearly pissed himself laughing when a house-elf had disapparated into the room a few weeks ago, asking Malfoy if he should 'prepare the young lord's bath'.

"Shut up, Potter."

Harry sighed and asked, "Why're you so worried anyway? There's no one in the manor... the whole place is dead."

"Oh I don't know? Maybe 'cause It's my bloody job," Malfoy said disdainfully, still behind his book.

"Any word from your other uh, usual house-guests?"

Draco looked up, setting his book aside finally. Moving his pale fringe out of the way he sighed. "No, nothing from them yet. I'm glad to have the manor back to myself – for the most part," he added with a nasty glare at Harry, "but it still means things aren't looking up for us either."

Harry nodded from the bed, although Malfoy couldn't see anything of him apart from his legs dangling off the edge.

The other Death Eaters, those that hadn't been identified by the Ministry yet, had been asked to return to their homes by Voldemort in order to keep up appearances. With some of their usual presences and others' frequent visits, Malfoy Manor was left oddly quiet and empty. Harry, who had only seen it while it had been filled to the brim with prowling Death Eaters and the like, now found that it's emptiness only added to his gloom.

The Malfoys themselves were quite worried. Although the manor itself had been made unplottable after Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment and subsequent breakout, Narcissa Malfoy and Draco were still expected to keep up with appearances. As such, 'Lady Malfoy' was already forced to show up from time to time at the Ministry as well as keep up correspondence with other notable names of the wizarding society.

Harry had started to feel a grudging admiration for the woman. Not only was she housing the Dark Lord in her house, she was also playing the role of a perfect pure-blooded lady of an old family. She also, he had come to realize, had an uncharacteristically good relationship with her son and very obviously loved both her husband and him dearly.

Added with the fact that he was forced to spend almost every waking minute with Draco and had many of his lessons with his mother, Harry was slowly finding that enslavers of his old friend Dobby were... growing on him – although that was stretching the truth as far as it went. He didn't like them any better and still disliked Lucius immensely. Still, Draco and his mother weren't too bad.

"Hey Potter?" Draco called from the sofa quietly.

"What?"

"Did he... Are you sure he didn't say anything else the last time you talked to him?"

Harry sat up on the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. Draco was sitting upright on the sofa now, looking at him grimly.

The question was something Harry had answered almost completely many times. He didn't think Voldemort would be too happy if he told Malfoy about the Unbreakable Vows and he himself didn't think that was such a good idea since it would only cause panic. But, even without knowing what exactly the Ministry was doing, it was becoming obvious to Draco that pure-bloods, and especially proud, idiotic Slytherin pure-bloods, were somehow in danger. That, added with the fact that Voldemort hadn't yet taken any visible action against the Ministry, was enough to make the blonde-haired boy extremely worried for him and his mother.

It hadn't taken long for Malfoy to accept that Harry was somehow 'special' when it came the Dark Lord. He had been thoroughly shocked the day Voldemort had cruciated Bellatrix, not at all expecting Harry to return to their room unscathed and without being tortured himself. Since then he had silently accepted the fact that Harry was 'important' and Harry had been surprised to note that unlike the jealousy the other boy had harboured for him while at Hogwarts, Draco now seemed to almost sympathize with him.

"I've told you... He wouldn't tell me anything, only that he isn't to happy with what's going on at the Ministry." Harry said, sounding like a broken record after what was, to him, his umpteenth repetition of some variation of the same words.

Malfoy scowled. "Well, of course he isn't happy. The Ministry still hasn't quit it's harping about your _tragic_ death and they're using that to win over most of the bloody idiots that live in our world. It's pathetic."

"It's a good enough strategy," Harry said, shrugging. "Though I don't much like their methods either."

"Ah, how could I have forgotten," Malfoy sneered. "You'd much rather be on their side than ours."

Malfoy of course knew nothing about why Harry was forced to work with Voldemort but Harry had made it pretty clear that he was actually _forced._

"I honestly feel like I'm on no one's side. I just want this war to somehow end... it's gone on for far too long." Harry gazed off, gloomy mood settling in once again.

Malfoy got up and stretched, brushing off imaginary dust from formal shirt and trousers. Harry had been amused to note that if Malfoy wasn't wearing robes, the most muggle clothing he ever wore were always just shirt and trousers – never a jeans and t-shirt.

"Well, I'm sure 'no one' will be pretty glad to have the infamous scarhead on his side," Malfoy said with a smirk. "Now if you're done being all tragic and gloomy, how about a game of chess until dinner?"

Harry rolled his eyes but did not remind the other that it had actually been him that had started the depressing conversation. Instead, Harry got up, glad to have something to keep him mind busy until dinner.

xxx

_'You have been ssssummoned..."_

Both Harry and Malfoy jerked back in their chairs at the hiss, though only one understood the meaning behind it. Their game of chess had gone long into the evening and they had left it in place to wolf down dinner before rushing back up to finish it.

Malfoy was more or less on par with Harry's skill in chess, with neither of them being a wiz at it like Ron or being as pathetic at it as Hermione. Equally matched, their games were rather long and interesting, with many oaths and 'Aha!'s in between.

Malfoy had just about cornered Harry's king when Nagini had slipped unnoticed into the room, straightened her coiled body enough to look over the coffee table they were playing at and hissed out her message.

Malfoy had thankfully gotten used to her presence enough that he did not flip the table in shock at the hiss, but had still gone pale at the sudden intrusion.

"What's she saying?" Malfoy asked a bit nervously, shifting back in his chair.

"He's called," Harry replied, hastily standing up and summoning his cloak. Putting it on, Harry checked his reflection momentarily in the mirror, to see if his face was sufficiently covered. Then, with a nod to Malfoy and quick mutter that this game was his, Harry left the room followed by Nagini.

Harry found his heart racing at the prospect of another meeting with Voldemort but didn't bother to think too much of it at present. He knew he would obsessively go over every word and look exchanged during the meeting at night anyway, so there was no point in worrying himself in advance.

Flushing and feeling a bit disgusted at the thought, Harry took a deep breath as he reached the door of the study and waited for Nagini to announce his arrival.

"Enter," came the quiet permission and Harry pushed open the door, blinking at the sudden darkness in the room.

Voldemort had finally deemed the days hot enough to not keep a fire going but the windows remained firmly shut, curtains drawn. A low lamp lit the desk but otherwise the room was in darkness and Harry looked around, not seeing the bright crimson eyes anywhere.

The soft click of the door shutting behind him made him jump and he whirled around to find himself face-to-face with Voldemort, who had been standing just behind the door.

The unnatural closeness between them bothered Harry and he felt heat creep up to his face. He took a hesitant step backwards, only to have the yew wand pressed firmly to his cheek with the flash of a pale hand.

"Does the darkness make you nervous, Harry?" Voldemort asked softly, digging the wand deeper into Harry's cheek.

Harry turned his head automatically to the side, fighting with himself to remain calm. "N-No..." he finally breathed, though he did not know why he kept his voice quiet. It almost seemed as though the darkness demanded it, as did their sudden, dangerous closeness.

The wand fell away from his cheek, replaced by Voldemort's mouth coming less than an inch close to his ear. "You're lying..."

Harry shuddered at the warm breath that made the sensitive skin of his ear tingle, making the cloth of his hood flutter beside him. A chuckle sounded from beside him in response, closer to his shoulder now.

Voldemort slowly straightened up, moving his hand in an arc above Harry's head to lower his hood. With the slight barrier of the cloth lifted from the front of his eyes, Harry found his gaze locked with Voldemort's and for a moment they stood in silence...

A meaningless hiss later, Nagini nudged Harry's arm and made him jump, slithering up his body slowly to have her head resting on his shoulder. Harry broke away from Voldemort's unblinking eyes to glance at Nagini, his cheek pressing against her smooth snout.

"She certainly has taken a liking to you," Voldemort said, reaching a hand forward to stroke the opposite side of Nagini's head. His long fingers did not even slightly brush against the clothed skin of Harry's shoulder but Harry found himself tensing, heart erratic.

Forcing himself to relax, Harry teased in parseltongue, _"Jealous?"_

"_Perhaps a bit..." _Voldemort conceded. _"She watches you day and night... It's amused me greatly to see your devotion, Nagini. You haven't even asked to be fed."_

Harry blinked at this, surprised. Before he could say so, Nagini hissed, _"This manor containsss sssufficccient ratsss to sssoothe me. But I will have to leave sssoon..."_

Voldemort ceased his stroking and Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. _"Go now, then. But return swiftly."_

Harry involuntarily arched his back as she slithered off of him, the sensation of her scales on his cloaked skin feeling oddly ticklish but pleasant. Voldemort's eyes followed Nagini's path down his body and out the door, before he slipped past Harry to stand at the window.

It was dark out tonight, a new moon, and Voldemort's face was only further thrown into shadows. Harry's eyes had adjusted to the dark by now and he found the stool he had used before and sat down.

"Read this."

A pamphlet of neat, folded parchment floated to rest in Harry's hands. Harry opened it and clicked his tongue impatiently. He could barely make out any words in the darkness.

Rummaging through his cloak, Harry pulled out the Elder Wand (he still refused to call it his) and cast a hasty _Lumos._ A sudden bright light filled the entire room and Harry quickly twisted his wrist, to tone down the intensity of the light emitting from the end of his wand.

"You have yet to learn how to control the intensity of the spells you cast with that wand," Voldemort said from the newly formed shadows.

"I know," Harry said a bit shortly. "I don't realize how much force I end up putting into the spell before I've already cast it."

He stared the glowing light then continued with a small sigh, "It's not like my old wand... It had seemed to effortless to use magic with it."

"Wrong," Voldemort said and Harry looked up, confused. "There was only so much power your old wand could handle. Thus, no matter how much force you put behind a spell, it would act the same in the end. The wand you carry now has the ability to utilize every ounce of power you put behind your magic... it is what makes it so special."

"So you mean wands limit the wizard? And this one doesn't?"

"In a way..." Voldemort said quietly. "But for now, read."

Harry wanted to discuss the wand further, only knowing that it was powerful and not knowing why but he looked down to the pamphlet obediently all the same. There were many things that Harry wanted to know from Voldemort. For now, he would settle for the ones the man was willing enough to share, rather than squabble over what he wasn't.

_Help Fight Against the Dark! Pay your due to our world and the Ministry of Magic!_

He raised his brows at the words and jerked the paper with one hand to open it, his other hand holding his lit wand over it. Harry's eyes scrolled down the page, becoming wider the more he read. When he finished, it was with an oath.

"I disagree with the choice of your words, but not with the sentiment."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What kind of a Dark Lord doesn't swear..."

"The kind that doesn't feel the need to resort to foul language to release his frustrations."

Harry huffed. "So tomorrow..."

"Yes, tomorrow."

"How are we to get in?" Harry asked, scanning over the page once more.

"Slip through with the people attending," Voldemort replied, still staring out the dark window.

Harry frowned. "There is any easier way, you know."

"Is that so?"

"There is a path... from the Shrieking Shack that goes directly to the grounds. It comes out at the Whomping Willow – it's this violent tree-"

"I am familiar with the species of the tree, but not with this shack," Voldemort said, cutting him off.

"You don't know the Shrieking Shack? It's only the most haunted building in Britain – though I admit that's actually a farce. Not to mention you killed a person there..."

"Snape, you mean. Yes, I remember the building, though I had never heard the name. Severus merely suggested it as a place for a hideout and I accepted."

"Great," said Harry moodily. "So I've given away another method on how you can get into Hogwarts."

"I don't have need to make use of secret passageways to get into the school, so do not worry yourself." Voldemort said.

"Why ever not? It'll take us directly to grounds. We can sneak out to the tomb from there, get what we need to and escape unseen," Harry said with a sinking feeling in his heart. He knew it wouldn't be as simple as that.

"It is not as simple as that." Voldemort said and Harry muttered an 'I knew it' under his breath.

"You caught on fairly quickly that I would want breech Hogwarts tomorrow... you did not think of the reason why?" Voldemort asked, his voice mockingly soft.

"I knew there was a reason. I suppose you want to attend this address?" Harry asked, gesturing to the pamphlet. "Why not just sent a Death Eater in your stead though? Aren't they supposed to do your dirty work?"

Voldemort's crimson eyes, still visible to Harry from where he sat, narrowed. "There is another small task I need to take care of."

"Which is?" Harry asked interestedly, knowing it would be important if Voldemort himself would want to do it.

"None of your concern."Voldemort said abruptly. "If you insist that we make use of this passageway than we must arrive before any of the Ministry officials. We will apparate to Hogsmeade village tomorrow morning."

"What about a disguise?"

"I will place a concealment charm on your scar as well as a Confunding haze around your face. Neither will be revoked unless I do it myself."

"Wouldn't it be safer to change my appearance completely though?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"It will suffice," Voldemort said swiftly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What about your own disguise? I daresay a concealment charm won't be all you need."

"Do not worry about me," Voldemort said. "My disguise will be unrecognizable. Meet me at the gates of the manor tomorrow morning. Tell Draco you are leaving with my permission... but tell nothing of this to anyone else."

Harry nodded. "Is that all then?"

Voldemort stepped away from the ledge of the window and came to stand in front of Harry. A pale finger folded to cup his chin, raising his face to meet Voldemort's eyes.

Flushing against his wish, Harry returned the gaze steadily. His eyes widened when Voldemort said after a moment, "You are anxious about tomorrow."

Harry feared for a moment that Voldemort had somehow gained access to his brain. He hadn't felt any pain though and it hadn't really been his anxiety about tomorrow that had been running through his brain at the time, so Harry deduced that Voldemort had merely guessed.

"Well, of course I am," Harry said scoffing and moving his face away. "Who knows what we'll find out about the prophecy tomorrow..."

"I can only think that it will be different from what was. Perhaps you will not feel the need to die after it..."

Harry shook his head, standing up. "That's not what worries me."

"So you are still prepared to?" Voldemort asked softly. There was something unfathomable in his eyes and it made Harry's heart twist slightly.

"To kill you, yes," Harry said, looking firmly into the crimson eyes.

Voldemort released a slow breath and moved away from him. Turning himself to face the window again, Voldemort said, "Your courage has always amazed me, Harry. But keep in mind your conviction may change..."

Harry shook his head, though Voldemort could not see him. "It won't change. You killed my parents... nothing changes that."

Voldemort was quiet for so long that Harry had begun fidgeting on his feet. When he finally spoke, it was with an old, cold hiss that Harry had found oddly absent in the man's voice in their past few encounters.

"Sleep. You are in need of it."

Harry nodded again, unseen and tugged on his hood. Opening the door with a click, he left the room without looking back.

xxx

* * *

><p>AN: I do spend most of my A/N's apologizing, don't I? Please forgive my lack of updates. I won't make any promises but hopefully this summer should give a rise to my frequency of updating.

I'm a bit worried. Does the slight slash really seem too sudden? I got that feeling while reading (the otherwise amazing) reviews. This chapter may or may not have explained things. Help out this misleading and idiot of an author by telling me if it is will you?

Also, I am editing previous chaps. It's hard to keep a story in track when I find myself loathe to even look at what I've previously written. Therefore I require help and I need a beta! If interested, please message. Possible jobs (hazards) include: Working with an author that likes to disappear off the face of the earth, reading/editing terrible first drafts of chapters, having to edit not only this but Conversations and Retributions as well (sorry, I want one person for them) and possibly dying of laughter when reading my attempt at a lemon. :P

Oh and don't worry, you'll find out exactly what's up at Hogwarts/pamphlet contents next chapter.

Quick review replies:

Real Prophecy – next chap sweethearts. We're going to Hogwarts!

Nagini – Like how she's communicating now? I like her, so she'll play an important role. I just don't like overly talkative snakes. She's as untrusting as Riddle so she'll take some time to open up.

Voldemort/Harry – They are kindred spirits aren't they?... You'll find that that'll turn out to be a lot more relevant come future chaps.

Ministry – A tired, power-hungry government that wants control. Nothing new, but interesting to work with nonetheless.

Rucksack – Oh you observant reader you :D He lost/left behind his rucksack because I imagine he would drop everything onto the ground as he approached the pensive. And obviously LV didn't allow him to pick anything up when he kidnapped him.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend – Damn it all. You people are way too smart... ('tis a complement)

Alright that's it for now. Thanks for reading and please review.


	7. NOT A CHAPTER

THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER

Apologies to anyone that got their hopes up.

Erm, I don't know how many of you've seen the summary for this story. It says that the story is being redone. Unfortunately, that's the truth. I got a message today saying I should post a chapter saying so, so here it is.

I am in the process of rewriting and am actually doing pretty steady, considering everything. I'll post the new story soon and delete this one when I do so. I like to think my writing has improved over the past few months and that the storyline is cleaner and better overall. I wanna finish it asap and get it out to you guys. I am truly sorry for being an absolute ass and not being able to continue this as it is. There's just to many friggin inconsistencies.

Well, not much more for me to say so I'll thank you for your reviews and support. I hope the revised story will make up for this and exceed your expectations. (I'm expecting a few angry comments, but don't plan to reply to them. So sorry in advance.)


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